Newton's Third
by fortunesque
Summary: Courier number Six is the center of unwanted attention as every power in the Mojave scrambles to figure out her forgotten identity. What will she choose?
1. Chapter 1

A/n: As per my other stories, this one will be canon with a smattering of non-canon surprises. I hope to provide an interesting perspective on many beloved characters, as well as some minor ones that might be overlooked.

Summary:

Courier number Six is the center of unwanted attention as every power in the Mojave scrambles to figure out her forgotten identity. What will she choose? Will she regain her lost memories?

General stuff about this fic:

This fic is going to be dark. There's no getting around it, especially given the subject matter and content that is in the game itself.

That being said, this fic will mention and may describe slavery, rape, torture, substance abuse, molestation, intense punishment, abuse, bribery, and sex in detail. The rating is M, so this shouldn't be a surprise.

If there is a chapter with graphic sexual content or something that might trigger bad memories for someone (eg: rape scene), there will be a warning in the author's note and the section will be marked with asterisks. I strongly encourage all readers to read each and every author's note so that no misunderstandings will occur.

* * *

><p><p>

Sensation slowly returned in stages to Courier number six. The scent of sun-dried laundry pervaded her senses, along with the old, musty scent of a still intact pre-war house. She felt a worn sheet draped over her half-naked body. The next sensation was a hint of pain behind a haze of chems which burned a sludgy swath through her veins.

Courier number six slowly opened her eyes, her vision spinning as the world slowly came into focus.

"You're awake, how 'bout that," a voice sounded off to the right.

The Courier sat up, a wave of nausea threatening to overtake her. A man sat in a chair. He leaned forward, his hands reaching to steady her.

"Easy there," the man chided, "you've been out cold for a few days. Can you tell me your name?"

She stared at him, her mouth open. Name. She had to have a name.

Her mouth shut with an audible click as she realized that she had no idea who she was. Her eyes darted about the room, trying to find something of familiarity that would trigger some form of memory. But as she attempted to remember her name or where she was from, the courier was met with a void of nothingness. Her eyes darted back to the man in front of her.

His expression melted from cautious curiosity to pity.

"It's okay," he murmured, placing a hand on her arm, "you're alive. That's what's important. What's the last thing that you remember?"

Her brow furrowed as something tugged at the corner of her mind.

"A checkered suit," she recalled, "a golden gun-"

Her eyes widened.

"I was shot," the courier mumbled.

She felt light-headed as she came to the realization that she had been so close to death.

"Yes, you were," the man replied.

He reached over to hand her a bottle of water. She mumbled her thanks and unscrewed the lid, taking a measured sip. Her head swam with the knowledge that she didn't know herself. She was a blank slate,

a complete stranger stuck inside her own head.

"I'm Doc Mitchell," he continued, "let's have you take a look at your face."

She took the mirror from the doctor's hand and stared intently into a face that she'd never seen before. In the reflection a young woman stared back with large, hazel eyes. Long, tangled black hair curled about a pale face. She supposed herself to be a possible beauty. These things were superficial.

But the thing she saw most was the wild look in her eyes. In a second, she knew that her expression wasn't what it was supposed to be. It was unsettling; she turned away.

"I have to find that man," she murmured, pointing her gaze at the doctor, "he might know who I am. I have to try."

"I'm not about to stop you, missy," he replied, "but I think you should stop to speak with Sunny Smiles first. You should be able to find her outside. Can't miss her; she and her dog Cheyenne patrol the town."

She slowly stood and began to walk toward the door. A cough made her turn around.

Doc Mitchell held out a jumpsuit, a sad smile on his face.

"The clothes you had weren't salvageable," he said.

Clothes. She couldn't run around without clothes. As she dressed, a look of worry was etched into the doctor's face. It made her feel guilty. She didn't know why.

He turned from her to rifle around in a drawer and the Courier found herself grateful because she didn't want to embarrass herself again with attempting to dress herself. She stared at the jumpsuit, trying to make sense of the garment. A toggle caught her eye and she drew it down, thus dividing the suit down the middle. The tube-like formations had to be for her limbs. She stepped into it, pleased that she'd matched up the proper tube with its correlating limb. The Courier zipped the suit and watched the doctor finish fumbling around in his desk.

"This should help you, missy," he said. Doc Mitchell turned from his desk and gently grabbed her arm, strapping a device to the limb.

"It's a Pip-boy," he explained, "pre-war technology. It's waterproof, shockproof, and can resist temperatures that your body can't. It'll keep track of anything you set it to track and has a map, as well as a storage system. You can also use it to listen to the radio if you're so inclined."

He jiggled the Pip-boy around, checking to see if it was properly secured. The Courier watched numbly as he showed her how to store a note that she'd had in her pack. The gift's value had to be incredible.

"You're sure you don't need-"

"Nonesense," the doctor interrupted, "I don't use it anymore and quite frankly, it'd be dreadful of me sending a gal who'd been shot in the head out without as much help as I could afford."

He smiled at her and she felt no further need to protest. Surely it'd be annoying if she continued to refuse.

The Courier turned to the Pip-boy to read the note she'd had in her pack. Apparently, she had some connection to the Mojave Express. The note said that she'd carried order number six out of six.

Something resonated with her when she read the word 'six'. Maybe the number had some sort of significant meaning to her. Maybe it was a birthdate or the number of siblings she had (she was sure she'd never had children).

"Six," she said, "I think I'll go by that."

"Well, it'll definitely do until you figure out your original name," the doctor chuckled, "Now I do suggest you go see Sunny. If shes' not outside, you'll catch her in the Saloon. She should be able to give you a little bit of knowledge on how to survive out there."

Six gave her thanks and headed toward the door. On her way out, she spied bookshelves full of old medical text. Some of those could fetch a very nice price. The Courier picked up a bunch of them, stopping only when her arms had reached their limit.

The doctor cleared his throat.

"Um, it's not generally regarded as polite or morally upstanding to take people's things," he said. Mitchell looked very concerned, almost disturbed.

Her eyes widened and she began to return the books back to the shelves, murmuring her apologies. As soon as her arms were empty, Six rushed outside into the barren Mojave.

She wondered how many mistakes she'd make as she went on her journey.


	2. Chapter 2

A/n: This chapter had to be written. At the risk of sounding loony, Vulpes wanted me to write it. There will be a few chapters in this fic from his POV, as well as Boone and others as they make their demands on me. Six will not be the only focus xD

* * *

><p>He was the kind of man that had to get everything right or he'd do it over until it was right. Others looked upon it as fastidiousness that only an officer of the Legion would have, but he knew the truth as he frowned at his reflection in the mirror.<p>

This job required the utmost perfection; his appearance had to ooze affluence. There was never room for error, especially in his line of work. It was less out of pride and more out of necessity.

Vulpes Inculta tied his tie for the fifth time in a row, his hands deftly flipping the well-kept material through its courses until the knot formed. Finally, it looked exactly as it should.

This did nothing to wipe the frown off of his face. In his opinion, Western-style ties were horrid, floppy disgraces of neckties. A part of him strongly wanted to wear a dark pinstriped suit with a business tie. It was a shame that such suits had become the apparel of thugs such as the Omertas. As such, he had to appear business-like yet approachable. He could easily intimidate with means other than his manner of dress.

He picked up his hat, dusting off a miniscule amount of lint before placing it on his head. He found hats and the like to be most agreeable; they provided shade when none was to be had. And for a pale man such as himself, this was important, especially in the unforgiving desert. His skin was not made for such a climate.

Vulpes stared in the mirror again, intent on keeping his expression blank. Instead, a bottomless well of sad blue eyes stared back. Despite growing out of an awkward adolescence, he retained the same sad-faced look that he'd had since he saw his reflection in the water when he was a child.

He'd come to accept that his countenance was far from intimidating. But from what he lacked in an intimidating appearance, he more than made up for in cunning and speech.

And from what he'd heard about the mayor of Nipton, he'd need both in reasonable doses. The one thing he'd never do would be to underestimate a job.

* * *

><p>It was the crack of noon and Mayor Steyn groaned at the light that beamed through the patchy curtains of his lavish room. He rolled over slowly so as to not upset his stomach further; the ancient bed groaning under the mayor's considerable weight. His mouth felt like the inside of one of the sex trailers that the lower-end hookers used.<p>

The room had been trashed, empty whiskey bottles littering the floor. Random articles of clothing were strewn about and the mayor found himself wondering why there was a piece of yucca banana fruit on the desk and what the devil that liquid was that coated it.

It'd been one hell of a night, that was for sure.

"Sir, there's someone here to see you," Nanette called from the doorway, "he's here to talk business."

Business. He perked up at the word. Mayor Steyn was always in the business to conduct more business, especially if it got his business all inside someone else's business.

The man stumbled out of bed and hastily dressed in his finest suit. Working his way to the door, he stumbled past the passed out customers and whores lining the stairway. Memories from the night before flashed across his mind; he vaguely recalled which passed out man or woman he'd slept with as he passed them by. The mayor stepped over a final body and looked into the sunlit foyer.

That was when he saw him.

The man was a tall, thin fellow, dressed richly in an immaculate brown suit. His pale skin contrasted sharply to his dark hair, giving him the appearance of one who rarely went outside. He reached for a glass of water and Steyn couldn't help but notice the play of muscle that lay under the man's thin suit.

"I hear you have a business proposition for me," the mayor smiled, hungrily watching the man's adam's apple bob as he swallowed.

The man turned to face him, his blue eyed gaze pinning his hung-over eyes down. He was quite an exotic looking man, at least in this part of the desert.

"That I do," the man replied, "you may call me Mr. Fox."

Mr. Fox's voice was as soft and seductive as velvet and Steyn couldn't help but look the man over again. Though silly, he found the name to be quite appropriate; he was an absolute fox of a man. As the stranger stood, the mayor's eyes drifted down to his lap, watching the fabric of his pants bunch and release with the movement. Steyn could barely contain his smile. Not only was his visitor gorgeous; he was hung like a damned bighorner.

"I'm Mayor Steyn III, Esquire," Steyn smiled, "let's go somewhere private to discuss our business."

The mayor led his guest up the stairs, his breath coming out in huffs after the first few steps. By the time they'd reached the office, Steyn found himself sweating and out of breath. Goddamn, it was never this hot from where he came from. And there were way too many stairs in the town hall.

Feeling like he deserved a drink, the mayor grabbed his bottle of whiskey and two glasses. The stranger politely refused his drink and Steyn figured he'd have both then. Anytime was the right time for a little bit of booze.

"I am of a certain organization that wishes to make use of your services," Fox said, "We have noticed that the Powder Gangers and NCR frequent this town. We wish to acquire some of these individuals and will pay accordingly for their capture."

"And who are 'we'?" the mayor smiled. Fox was right to business and he could certainly appreciate that. They hadn't even had a chance to take a seat.

"We are Legion," the young man replied, the timbre of his voice lowering to a purr.

For a moment, Steyn's brain short-circuited. Fox's seductive voice did inexplicable things to his usually business-savvy mind. Dear God, he wanted to do business- any kind of business- with this intense man.

"Who again?" the mayor repeated, blinking himself out of his stupor.

"Caesar's Legion," Fox said.

Steyn's enthusiasm melted into wariness as the knowledge of what the man before him was sank into his head.

"Mr. Fox," he replied, "you do know that your faction hasn't the best kind of reputation on this side of the river. People are anxious, because they do not want to be caught in the middle of a war between yourselves and the NCR. Now, I am not a man to readily pick a side until I'm certain that I've made a good decision. Selling some of my customers would be quite a risky practice. The price for such things would be high, as this is of a high risk. I am sure that, business man to business man, you can appreciate where I come from on this."

The Legion sent a well-dressed man to propose the capture of some slaves; he was bound to be loaded as hell with caps. He'd get caps from customers, caps from the Legion for captures, and he'd get to stare at yet another fine ass coming in and out of his door from time to time.

Fox, if that was truly his name, nodded his acceptance. He leaned his elbows back on the mayor's desk, crossing his legs at the ankles. Goddamn, there was that dick again. Steyn's mouth went dry as he continued to stare.

"I am very aware of the fact that this is a risky venture for your interests," Fox said, "so we will pay an appropriate sum. You may name your price and we can come to an agreement."

He looked displeased. Had Steyn been caught looking? He couldn't not look; it was right there. Besides, he'd heard that Legion men were always up for a little game of buggery, despite the crucifixion penalty for such acts. Hell, he'd pay a ton of caps to get his business inside Fox's business or vice-versa. The man was terrifyingly handsome and the mayor would pay most of what caps he had for a little bit of playtime with the enigmatic stranger.

"Eight thousand caps," Steyn smiled.

"Done," Fox replied, his face devoid of any emotion.

Shit. The mayor realized his mistake too late. That was a fucking pittance for their deal. If their deal had been a roll around, it would have been an exorbitant fee. But this was slave trading; eight thousand was nothing.

His damned hangover hadn't helped and neither did the fact that he was very taken with the young man. Generally speaking, Steyn was a 'trysexual'; if it looked exceptional, he had to try it. This one was incredibly exceptional and because he'd spent too much time wondering if Fox had to tuck his dick into his sock, he'd just cost himself a lot of potential money.

Steyn could only help that the Legion would be repeat customers and that this Legion lackey would be willing to mix his business with some pleasure. He was sure that he'd come out on top, regardless.

Mayor Joseph B. Steyn III, Esq. always came out on top.

* * *

><p>Mayor Steyn was as disgusting as rumor had purported.<p>

As soon as the other man had entered the room, Vulpes felt himself being eyed up like a piece of meat. Truly, he never understood the obsession that the many of the dissolute had with him. Physically speaking, he was under-muscled as far as Legion men went. He'd never been able to build bulk on his tall, wiry frame. Like the fox, he was all fine bones and sleek sinew. Vulpes couldn't overpower his enemy, but he'd easily outmaneuver them.

In contrast, men like Lanius were held as the Legion standard for what was considered to be the perfect man. The Legate was like the bull; he was tall, thickly muscled and carried a rumbling presence that made others go silent in awe. Vulpes was no such man, though he inspired those under him in his own way, perhaps because of his young age.

Still, the mayor persisted with his ocular harassment. Crossing his legs had apparently been a mistake and at the time, Vulpes felt a strong urge to have the mayor's eyes sewn shut. The feeling of another man hungrily eying his genitals was a dirty one indeed. The whole thing was positively lewd and he wanted no part in it.

This wasn't to say that he was some sort of prude. He was human, and thus, a sexual creature. But the mayor had him pegged wrongly, no doubt from the NCR's propaganda of accusing the entirety of the Legion of rampant homosexuality.

All Vulpes knew was that he needed to find another damn pair of pants or something. He deserved better than getting demeaned while on a job.

* * *

><p>Nights like these were hot and oppressive. The stench of Nipton swirled up through the worn floorboards of his hotel room, leaving a foul taste in his mouth that he couldn't get rid of. Vulpes longed for the cooler temperatures that would come later in the year, when the night air would be crisp, cool and smoky from the smell of campfires.<p>

He'd been given a guest room in Nipton's town hall after he and Steyn had concluded the specifics of their business and the time had been unfortunately late. After hours of staying his hand against the whore-mongering mayor, Vulpes had been tempted to leave. But traveling alone in the middle of the night inside NCR territory would be extremely unwise, even for a skilled legionary such as himself.

The damned town hall had retained so much heat. Even with the open window, he was forced to remove his jacket and shirt. Vulpes sat in a chair and began to remove his shoes as he dreamed about going for a midnight swim at the Fort. Nights like these were best for such things.

A knock sounded at the door and he sighed. The sooner he let the person in, the sooner he'd be able to be rid of them.

"Enter," he grumbled.

The door opened to reveal a female, her assets barely covered. She could have passed as attractive if she didn't have obvious signs of drug usage. The pock-marked woman stared at him, unblinking as she slinked over to him.

"Whatcha' need, baby? I'm yours for the night," she mumbled.

The whore looked anywhere but his face and seemed to settle on raking her eyes down his torso to the front of his pants. He knew she was curious; it was entirely safe to say that none of her clients had been Legionaries.

She continued to eye the bare upper half of his body, an appreciative smile working its way across her face.

Vulpes entertained her for a moment as she slithered her way onto his lap. Her legs wrapped around him, her hips wantonly grinding against his. Long, stringy hair brushed across his bare chest and her mouth rested against the hollow between his neck and his shoulder. His heart quickened its pace, liquid heat boiling a searing path to where their hips connected. From the way she moved, he could tell why she'd been selected for him; she was very likely to be Nipton's finest.

"Anything you want," the whore moaned, "I'll let you have it, handsome. I might even enjoy you."

He knew that something she said or did would disgust him when the condition of her dissolution bubbled to the surface. There was nothing lovely anymore about this woman; she was a used up, dissolute, impure wastrel. Everything from her was a lie, down to her wanton attempts at mounting him. The thought didn't anger him like he'd expected.

For a moment, he lightly embraced the broken creature, his hands tracing languid trails up her spine. She relaxed against him, her mask slipping slightly. It was likely that it'd been a very long time since she'd been caressed. When was the last time she'd been left unspoiled and spent the night without some disgusting, disease-ridden drunk?

"The Legion will burn a swath of conquest across the desert," Vulpes murmured, leaning in to her ear to speak to her as if she were a child. "All will be given purpose and strength; the dissolute will be uplifted from their filth and diseased corruption and stark depravity. If you are true to Caesar, you will be made whole again."

"Those women are slaves," she murmured.

"And you are not?" he quipped, his thumbs gently running over the angry marks on her arm.

"I-" the whore began to tremble.

"What of the disease you have been given, this addiction?" Vulpes murmured, "What are you given for your suffering? What is the glory in this?"

"The Legion causes suffering of different kinds," she sniffled, "the only difference between me now and the Legion is that at least now I can at least forget the shit people are doing to me."

Knowing that he'd end up arguing in circles with the woman, Vulpes decided not to belabor the point. Instead, he opted to continue his physical ministrations. He'd be an idiot to lie with her and would deserve catching the itch that would lever leave. But, this one could be redeemed in all of her heartbroken, addicted dissolution.

Lottery or not, this one he'd save.


	3. Chapter 3

A/n: Thank you all to those who reviewed and faved/alerted. It's very difficult to break into new fandoms when you're a complete unknown for the new fandom. I appreciate each and every bit of support that I've gotten thus far and I'm very excited to continue writing. (Sidenote: I'm going to correct some formatting and typo issues in the first two chapters. I have no idea how those slipped by me)

Also! It's come to my attention that a few people have used the name "Six" for their Courier, both on here and on the kink meme. There's also been the idea of the Courier having amnesia from being shot in the head that's been reused as well. It isn't my intent to copy anyone; sometimes ideas get reused, particularly in fanfic. My idea is that though this is a recycled backstory, the fic will be unique because of where I take it. I hope this clears some things up. :)

Sorry for the long note. Here's the next chapter!

* * *

><p>Sunny Smiles looked exactly as Six thought she would and the Courier told her so immediately upon their introduction.<p>

"Well, thank you," Sunny said, "I'll admit that you don't look like a Six to me. You're more like a nine or a ten."

The stand-in sheriff gave her a wink and a shy smile. She wasn't sure what Sunny was getting at but she offered her thanks anyway.

"Now let's see what you can do," Sunny chuckled, "I'm going to have you shoot at these here Sarsaparilla bottles. See if you can hit them."

She handed a varmint rifle to the Courier and stepped back. Six readied the rifle in the pocket of her shoulder, took aim, and fired. The glass bottles systematically shattered after each shot, an enthusiastic Sunny cheering her on with each new felled bottle. In less than a minute, there were no more bottles.

Six stared at the empty fence, wondering if it was normal that someone was that good of a shot in these parts. She had the distinct feeling that the answer was 'not really' and that she could very well be above average.

"Well, it's good to see that you've got the know-how to handle a gun," Sunny smiled, "but I recon that with what all you're doing, you'll be fighting a lot more than Sarsaparilla bottles."

Glancing between the Courier and the road out of town, Sunny shifted for a moment, as if unsure of herself.

"If you want," she mumbled, "I can take you to the place you got shot at. I don't want to push you, though. I just reckon it might could help you out. Maybe you've got something up there."

Six agreed immediately and followed Sunny up the path to the graveyard. It was a short, steep climb and appeared to be a frequently-traveled trail. Together, the pair crested the hill that overlooked a scenic area of the Mojave, the heat already beginning to cause mirages on the early morning horizon.

The graveyard itself lay in the shadow of a rusty water tower, its bulky, groaning metal the only sound present. Scattered about the pair were well-tended graves. Some had desert flowers at the base of their markers, others had toys or other such personal items. Many were fenced in. It was obvious that the dead were highly-respected in this town.

Six walked up to a freshly dug, still open grave and inspected the ground. To the right of the grave lay some distinctive cigarette butts; she pocketed three and stood to face her silent companion.

"All I've got is some cigarette butts," Six sighed, "but it's better than nothing. I figure with a crazy suit like his and these butts, someone's bound to know the guy."

"That's the spirit, darlin'. Ain't nothin' to it but to track his ass down," the sheriff smiled and wrapped an arm around the Courier's shoulder. "Now, if you've got the time, it'd do me a world of good to see you try your skill at some moving targets. I can't let you wander out of town without knowing you'll have a chance at being safe."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Six replied, "What do you have in mind?"

"Just some gecko hunting, down by the water source," Sunny shrugged.

They ambled down the pathway through the town, the sheriff stopping to greet and introduce Six to every townsperson they came across. Most wished her well and offered their sympathies. Others went so far as to give small gifts and caps to the Courier for her journey. Goodsprings was a small town full of people with compassion, generosity and kindness. It was a familiar feeling that gnawed at Six's heart.

The jumbled rows of houses soon thinned out into a path lined a series of pipes, troughs and various other defunct farming equipment. Sunny signaled a stop and pointed in the direction of a cluster of bushes.

"There," she whispered, "I reckon we can sneak up on them if we get real quiet. You go first so I can see how you do it. Cheyenne and I will cover you in case it gets hot."

Six nodded and crouched low, inching forward without a sound. She readied her weapon, the sling tightening comfortingly around her forearm. As soon as the geckos were in sight, Six fired. The closest one crumbled to the ground and its denmates looked around for the source of the noise. She reloaded and another creature fell; there was only one left.

Six drew the bolt back on her rifle in an attempt to clear the chamber but it jammed. Cursing, the Courier smacked the action with her hand until it finally gave way, ejecting the old cartridge and replacing it with a new one. She looked up in time to see a hissing gecko barreling toward her. It was too close to hit with her rifle. She'd have to bludgeon it.

A streak of gray darted in front of the Courier and toppled the gecko off course. Cheyenne and the gecko became a tangle of snarling limbs as they battled for supremacy. As quickly as it started, it ended. Cheyenne stood over the felled gecko, her jaws wrapped around its throat.

Sunny jogged down the path to meet up with the Courier.

"Sorry, darlin," Sunny sighed, "but all I had for you was old 'jam-o-matic' for you. Good for us that Cheyenne got in there." She shifted her weight on her feet and regarded the Courier for a moment. "Let's go down to the campfire. There's one more thing I want to show you before you leave."

Six nodded and followed the Sheriff silently. As she passed by the geckos, the Courier couldn't help but feel like she'd done this before. She'd been the follower as someone more experienced took her along. Had it been geckos? She couldn't say.

But she could tell which things she liked and didn't like. She liked Sunny. She liked Cheyenne and the sleepy, happy little town of Goodsprings. She didn't like that gecko getting in her quarters. Six had the sneaking suspicion that she would be terrible at close combat. Since she didn't have any memories or experiences to draw off of, Six knew that she'd have to rely on her instincts. She wasn't sure what sort of person she'd been before. Her skills certainly surprised her.

The path they traveled on winded down a short hill and ended at a campfire, surrounded by old, rusted barrels and car parts. To their left, a pair of run-down trailers rested, accompanied by another stale campfire.

"Alright," Sunny said, "I'm going to teach you how to make something called Healing Powder. I reckon it'll come in handy for you."

The Sheriff pulled two rusted hubcaps to the side of the fire and sat down on one, motioning the Courier to take the other. Six sat and watched Sunny search through her pack with her short, nubby fingers. Her companion found the ingredients and began to explain them and the process of making healing powder. Six watched intently, taking note of what Sunny did and how she did it. She was certain that she'd never done something like this before. Weren't there stims for stuff like this? Healing powder seemed tenuous at best for injuries.

"So, what is the practical application for this?" Six asked, hoping to learn as much as she could.

"It's the next best thing to stimpacks," Sunny replied, "I'd use it for minor injuries and save any stims you can find for if you get seriously hurt, God forbid."

The Courier nodded. This made sense. It seemed that healing powder had a very practical application when properly administered.

For a moment, the pair sat in silence. Six examined the note in her pip-boy again. It mentioned a contract for a delivery that she'd carried out of Primm. She had to be registered in their system or something. Maybe they knew who that man in the suit was. Maybe they knew where she was from.

She watched as Sunny removed the ingredients from the fire, noting how they'd coalesced into a dried up ball. Essentially, they'd cooked the leaves in a dry pan, removing the moisture from them. Six assumed that the next step would be to grind it into a powder. She reached for the lump in the pan, only to have her hand smacked away. Six recoiled in shock.

"That's hot, baby," Sunny chided, "you don't want to touch it as is. Sorry. That was the quick way of getting you to stop before you burned yourself."

"Sorry," the Courier mumbled as she stared at the lump in the pan.

"Ain't a thing wrong with it," Sunny replied, "You've just gotta think before you do stuff, is all. I reckon you'll be reteaching yourself some things along the way."

The Sheriff shifted uncomfortably as she used a set of tongs to grab the hot ingredients. Placing them in a leather pouch, she began to crush them with the tongs, her brow furrowed as her mind turned.

"Listen," she murmured, "Now I don't want to be insulting or any such thing, but I worry about a gal like you running off to hunt down this guy that wanted to kill you. Maybe you should wait a while before heading out. I'd go with you but I've got a town to watch."

"I handled the geckos okay," Six replied, "I'm sure it'll be fine."

"I'm not questioning your shooting abilities or the like," Sunny said, "There's just some really bad folks out there that will try to take advantage of a gal who got shot in the head. I don't want to see it come to that, is all."

Six watched as Sunny tied the string on the finished bag of healing powder and thought about what the Sheriff had said. It was true; Six didn't remember some incredibly basic things. But if she stayed in the town, she'd never accomplish anything. The answers she needed certainly wouldn't come to her.

"I can't stay," Six murmured, "I've got to do this. And when I come back, you'll have heard of what happened."

The road called and courier number Six would answer.


	4. Chapter 4

A/n: The fic is going to be getting dark, starting with this chapter. There is mention of child molestation, though it isn't described in detail.

* * *

><p>It'd been almost high noon when Six had left Goodsprings. Six hours and about nineteen miles later, the Courier arrived in Primm, Nevada.<p>

A man jogged up to her, a frown etched into his features.

"Primm's off limits," he said, "you'd better go back to Goodsprings."

"Why?" she asked.

"A group of convicts escaped the NCRCF nearby and they've taken over the town," the man sighed, "It's all gone to hell."

"Why can't you go in there and protect the town?" Six replied. Her finger found a lock of her hair and began to twist it around the digit.

"They're not even under our jurisdiction," he mumbled, "and even if they were, we wouldn't have the supplies or manpower to do a damn thing."

She cocked her head to the side as the man rolled his eyes at her. Had she said something wrong? She assumed that the nice thing to do would be to go in there and get rid of the convicts, regardless of this 'jurisdiction' stuff. The man mumbled and walked off, murmuring about clueless broads.

She opened her mouth to sound off a retort about impotent guards but thought better of it. He had a good reason to be in such a mood; she certainly didn't need to jab at him while he was down, even if he'd been a total dickweed.

Six shrugged the whole thing off and eyed the bridge that led to the other side of town. Her identity was over there, so she would go over there as well.

In front of her, the path was strewn with yellow disks that had red lights on top of them. She paused, wondering what they were. The Courier reached out to touch one but her hand snapped back at the last second. Earlier in the day, she'd almost burned her hand on a hot pile of healing powder.

Six crouched down and reassessed the bridge. There were convicts on the other side. The NCR guys didn't want the convicts coming over. So the disks had to have something to do with it. Maybe they were alarms. Maybe they were something more sinister.

Conclusion: She wouldn't touch the blinking disks.

Six congratulated herself on her small victory against her impulses. She'd do Sunny proud and she'd live to come back to Goodsprings to repay the town for their kindness.

The Courier hopped over the disks on the ground to reach the other side of the bridge. Once past them, she crouched low and readied her rifle, knowing that the convicts would be eying the entrance for would-be saviors.

Gunfire sounded and Six found herself to be correct as a convict recklessly ran up to her and began to rapidly fire his pistol in her general direction. She hissed out a curse as she saw that there was no cover nearby. And there was absolutely no way she'd be able to hop back across the bridge safely.

A stray bullet hit something behind her, setting off an explosion. Six whirled around to see that one of the disks had disappeared.

"That's what those do?" She squeaked, suddenly very glad that she hadn't touched one.

The convict drew closer, his shots whizzing around her as he continually failed to hit his target. Shouts sounded from around the corner; the ruckus had drawn more out of hiding. She wouldn't be able to hit them all in time with her half-destroyed rifle.

Whirling around, Six grabbed one of the disks and threw it as far as she could in the direction of the pack of convicts. It exploded within seconds, a set of screams coming from behind the haze of smoke.

The Courier advanced cautiously with her rifle trained on the direction of where she assumed the convicts' location was. Smoke cleared to reveal their maimed bodies; a quick set of shots put the men out of their misery. Six approached where they'd fallen and searched through the grime to find two pistols and a few sets of full ammo clips.

She glanced around and determined that the Mojave Express office would be a good first stop.

Soundlessly, Six crept up to the building's front door and opened it. An earthen scent drifted to her nostrils as a mossy, dimly-lit room revealed itself. Directly across from her on a counter lay a rusted pile of mechanical parts. Behind that were rows upon rows of defunct mail organizers, their weathered brass plates barely hanging on to the old wood.

The tidy office was devoid of occupants and appeared to have been left in a hurry; there were two plates of untouched casserole on the table in the far corner. Unfortunately, Six had no idea where to look for information about herself. It was likely that the occupants fled to where the other townsfolk were to hide from the convicts.

Sighing, Six left the office and found herself once again enveloped in the harsh light of the Mojave evening sun. She glanced around and decided that surely the townsfolk had to be hulled up at the Bison Steve Hotel. It was a central location and therefore, was the logical choice.

Five close calls and a burn wound later, Six would find out that she was very, very wrong in her assumption.

* * *

><p>He wasn't sure how the situation had transitioned into such a monster, but here he was nonetheless, spiraling dangerously out of control. Ordering his recruits to not pillage the women because of their possible diseases felt incredibly hypocritical, as did announcing the sins of the town and the lottery.<p>

Vulpes tried desperately to ignore that the slaughter of Nipton was quickly turning into a sexual experience.

He wasn't sick like of some of the others, dammit. He wasn't Aurelius of Phoenix with his taste for human flesh and wearing women's underwear. He wasn't Antony, sleeping in the kennels every night. He wasn't some shiftless recruit, taking pleasure from a barely-budded woman child. But here he was, undoubtedly turned on by the torture of the people of Nipton.

Slaughter had never been this personal before outside of battle. The destruction of Camp Searchlight had been a dagger against a stranger's throat in the dark. In contrast, Nipton was slow and languid, much like a wedding night.

After they were finished, Vulpes wanted to scrub himself raw in the cold Colorado. He felt filthy, not from his actions, but from his reaction to the carnage around him. This was supposed to be a purging, an almost sacred mission to announce the Legion's stance on dissolution. It was meant to be a warning to the profligates.

It wasn't the death that turned him on; it was the suffering. Every scream, every cry of pain reverberated down his spine and straight to his groin. It was the power he held over so many lives that gave him such an unimaginable rush. In this moment, he could play God, purging the dissolute from the face of the earth.

The recruits presented him with Mayor Steyn, having bound his arms and legs tightly.

"Fox, my dear man," Steyn pouted, "whatever have I done to you? I wanted a peace between Nipton and the Legion. We would give you anything." The last sentence was punctuated with a suggestive stare, as if the mayor felt he could attempt to seduce the viper in front of him.

Vulpes smiled and glanced to his left. Next to the staircase leading up to Nipton's town hall lay a pile of tires. His body acted of its own accord, grabbing a canister of old, potent fuel and pouring it on top of the tires. The mostly empty tank sailed through the air to land on the tires.

He was outside of himself, watching as a stranger controlled his hand and grabbed a torch from a recruit. Before he knew it, Vulpes cornered Steyn and began to walk forward, forcing the mayor to stumble back into the tires. He leaned in and smelled the sweat and stale booze on the other man; he was close enough to see his stubble and close enough to hear his panicked, labored breathing.

The pile erupted into flames, Steyn screaming and begging to be let up. His boot kept the other man firmly in place.

"Spear, please," he requested, his voice sounding far too calm and normal to his own ears. He didn't want to do it, not like this. Not if he didn't have control.

The wooden weight of a pike settled into his gloved palm. Vulpes thrust it deep into the mayor's bloated stomach and out the other side, pinning him to the pile of tires. Flames licked at him; the sole of his boot began to melt and his leg hair began to singe.

Burning this pervert gave him a feeling that justice had been served. There had been something in Steyn's eyes that reminded him of his instructor.

And suddenly, he was there again, backed into the corner of the small outbuilding that served as his instructor's office. He was nine years old, defenseless, innocent, and unsure of what was going on. But this time wasn't like the other times. This time, he had the power; Vulpes was in charge. Those hands wouldn't get near him unless he said so.

He backed up, blinking as a sick thrill of arousal shot its way down his spine again. The leg that held the mayor down felt warm and he clenched his fists at the memories that he wanted to forget.

But he couldn't forget. He knew he'd never forget and he'd hate himself every time he remembered it.

Vulpes found himself glad for his cowl and mask so that he wouldn't have to look anyone in the eye. His armor, too, hid his white-hot shame against his thigh, causing his every step to painfully rub.

The cloak of the Legion protected him, as it always had. But this wasn't right; it was sickness.

This memory was disease. He had to purge it from his body and mind.

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry, missie," Johnson Nash sighed, "but I was in too much of a hurry to fill out your paperwork. All I've got is your signature."<p>

Six's heart fell to the pit of her stomach as she attempted to read the unintelligible scribble on the paper. Not one letter stood out.

"That job had strange written all over it," he murmured.

"Some men stole my package. A man in a checkered suit and some thugs. Did they pass this way?" she asked, following her only lead. At least she had something. She had to remind herself of that.

"I'd heard of something about that," Nash replied, "You might want to ask Deputy Beagle. He might know where they were headed."

Six nodded, her eyes wandering to the dark corner of the room that housed Deputy Beagle. It looked like she'd have to speak with him. Hopefully he wouldn't ditch her in the middle of their conversation again.

Beagle glanced up and their eyes met for a second before he looked away and allowed his hair to fall in front of his eyes. Six watched the way his muscles tensed, as if he'd bolt at any second, but it was too late for him to leave. She'd gotten too close.

Six regarded him for a moment, deciding that it was a shame that he was so insufferable and cowardly. The Deputy was an attractive man with his rosy blonde hair and nicely muscled frame. But it was little more than show; he'd proven that he couldn't do a damn thing outside of skulk around.

"Can you tell me about the man in the checkered suit that came through here?" she asked, pulling up a seat next to him.

The Deputy glanced around for a way out but Six knew that she'd effectively blocked him. He took a deep breath and sighed.

"Yeah, they showed up a while ago while I was doing some recon," Beagle replied, "they were talking about a delivery they'd taken from a Courier. I assume that'd be you. Anyway, they said they'd be heading through Nipton to Novac to meet a contact there."

"Thanks," Six murmured as the Deputy turned away from her, his body language telling her that the conversation was over.

She got up from the table, yawning as she glanced at the clock on her pip-boy. The day had been very long and she'd been outside for almost the entire time. But the most noticeable thing was how much her face hurt. Six wondered how such a thing was possible; the convict's incinerator didn't get near her face.

She'd have to talk to someone about this strange development. In the meantime, sleep was definitely in order.


	5. Chapter 5

A/n: Thanks for all the hits and favorites. As always, reviews are appreciated. It's good to know that people are enjoying this so far :)

Also, it's time to start flipping the canon on its ass in my usual fashion XD

I WANTED TO GIVE A SHOUTOUT TO MY BETA, TEENZOMBIE WHO READ THIS OVER FOR HERPADERPS. THANKS SO MUCH!

Side/side note: I just looked at this just now and realized that my formatting went away. Sorry guys. It's back now. I hate what this site does to formatting. I have a lot more space between sections so that things look nicer but I can't get those extra lines to stay :/

* * *

><p>"Sweetie, that's sunburn," Ruby Nash said, trying not to grimace, "a very severe sunburn. You should drink a lot of water because that's probably dehydrated you quite a bit."<p>

The older woman reached out to poke at her face but froze before her fingers reached the surface of the Courier's inflamed skin. She sighed, motioning the young woman to follow her to the back of the Mojave Express office.

Johnson told Ruby earlier what happened to the poor thing and her mothering instincts kicked in immediately. It didn't matter that her own had left the nest years ago to have their own children and live in the NCR; it didn't matter that they hadn't spoken in years because of the great distance between them. Her heart ached for the amnesiac Courier in the same way that it ached every day for her children who lived so far away.

"Pale little ladies like you need to cover their faces out in the sun like that," Ruby chided. She rummaged around in one of her drawers to find some ointment for the burns.

"Put this on it and it might not blister," she sighed, "hopefully you won't scar. A pretty gal like yourself doesn't need that. And here's a mask to wear during the daytime."

Six frowned at the mask. It was a worn, brown hood, complete with a mesh front. Though it was very old and obviously homemade, it had been taken care of well. But wearing it would be like putting a bag over her head. The Courier opened her mouth to protest.

"No," Ruby interjected, "I know what you're going to say and let me tell you that fashion takes a backseat to your safety, young lady. Otherwise you're going to end up with a leathery old face like mine."

"You know, they used to have a lotion that stopped sunburns back before the war," she continued, "They called it sunblock. It'd be nice if someone figured out that recipe again. Until then, I suggest you wear a mask over your face during the daytime."

Ruby turned from Six to rummage around in her drawers some more.

"And I'd cover your arms, legs and chest if I were you," she murmured, "can't have pale gals running around the desert without being covered head to toe. Besides, with a figure like that, you don't want to attract attention from undesirables. The Legion wanders about and they wouldn't hesitate to scoop someone like you up. The next thing you know, you're popping out babies from random men so often that your breasts will be down to your knees by the time you're thirty."

Six learned quickly that when the older woman spoke, it was law. Within an hour, she had a used, baggy outfit, a hood, some ammo, and a stomach so full of casserole that she wondered if she'd ever have to eat again.

Full and content, the Courier drifted to sleep in a borrowed bed. She'd head out for Nipton first thing in the morning.

* * *

><p>By the time they got to the second and first place winners, everything had burned away until all he felt was disgust and exhaustion.<p>

Then the recruits presented him with the second place winner, the bound man kicking and cursing the whole way. Of all the townsfolk, this man had to be one of the ones to survive. But Vulpes wouldn't question the random picking of the lottery; it ensured that the majority of townspersons were punished without bias.

"What the fuck? Why you gotta do me like this?" the ganger shouted, "I didn't do shit to you."

He approached the man, a spiked baseball bat in his hands. The recruits took it from one of the Powder Gangers. It was a disgusting weapon, never properly maintained; chunks of rotting flesh and blood were encrusted on the bat's spikes. This weapon's intent was to provide a slow, agonizing death for its victims, though Vulpes doubted that its previous owner had given much thought to the fact. He glanced down at the weapon again in distaste. It would be fitting to use it to punish this man.

"Getting beaten by a bunch of faggots in skirts," the man continued, "I can't fucking believe it. So you think you can just play God, you son of a bitch?"

A murmur arose from the recruits at the prisoner's accusations. Who dared to speak to Vulpes Inculta in such a way? Would the decision of the lottery be reversed? This man ought to be crucified for his tongue.

"What is your name?" Vulpes asked, ignoring the man's outbursts altogether.

"Whose fucking business is it?" he spat, "I'm not telling you shit."

Vulpes stared at the man in front of him for a while. Despite what the Powder Ganger thought, he wasn't doing this for fun. He pointed to a headless corpse.

"Shawn told me his name," Vulpes replied, "So did Paul, James, Bottles, Simon, Hatchet, and all the others."

Each name was punctuated with a gesture toward each respective dead or dying man. His mind was a steel trap, in particular with lists. It was likely that he'd remember these names for years.

"So you take the time to know your victims before you slaughter them?" the prisoner hissed, "Isn't it enough that you kill them slowly? Fine. You fucking tell me who you are and I'll tell you my name."

"Fair enough," he replied, "I am Vulpes Inculta. Unfortunately, due to the nature of my work, I cannot show you my face."

The prisoner's eyes widened with the realization that he was talking to someone of importance.

"Fuck you, then, Vulpes, my name's Boxcars," the Powder Ganger murmured, "Didn't think they'd send someone that highly ranked just to ransack a shithole like this."

"Since you drew second prize," Vulpes said, "you will be beaten within an inch of your life. Such a punishment is common for Legionaries who either fail or are caught in minor crimes."

Vulpes approached with the bat, watching as Boxcars struggled against his restraints. He'd provide the first set of blows; such was his responsibility as leader. The bat swung in a low arc, connecting solidly against the prisoner's legs.

Boxcars crumbled to the ground and screamed, but he did not relent. Blood sprayed up onto his goggles, the muted gray specks slightly obscuring the dull blue-gray world from his field of vision. In between screams of pain, the prisoner yelled at him, telling him that he had no right to punish someone if he hadn't experienced a punishment firsthand.

Vulpes didn't bother to offer a reply, though he personally knew all about punishment. He had been sentenced to crucifixion and already endured his scourging, before the order was reversed by Caesar himself.

The baseless accusations spurred him on, making him complete the job before any of the recruits could have their turn. He'd beat, maim, torture, or kill anyone who hadn't been deemed worthy. Perhaps this man would turn over a new life from his debased corruption. Vulpes doubted it.

He examined his handiwork then turned to the remainder of the people. Most were women, though some were more feeble-looking men, still others were lucky gangers that had drawn to live. Among them was the woman that Steyn had sent to service him the night he'd stayed in the town. She looked at him with teary eyes and a filthy face, though he found himself unsure if she was shaking in fear or if she needed a fix. She'd hate him for a time; they all did. But if she could survive the following days, her quality of life would be vastly improved.

"According to property law, it is up to the owner to ensure the well-being of his charges," he announced. "The owner is to keep his charges in general health, free of disease and addiction. If he does not, then his property shall be removed and punishment will be dealt."

He turned to look at the charred corpse that lay pinned to the pile of burning tires. How much property had this man destroyed? It was very hard to say. But Steyn wouldn't pollute anyone again.

"You will be taken to a camp to be sorted and processed," he continued, "For some of you, detox will be painful. But from now on, your lives will be filled with a clarity and purpose you've never felt before."

From there, he ordered the more experienced recruits to round the remainders up and take them away. All that remained of the townsfolk were the winner, the second place winner, and the crucified. The winner reminded Vulpes of a brahmin calf with his large, round eyes and fluffy tuft of brown hair on top of his head. He lifted his hand to adjust his goggles and the man flinched as if he expected to be struck. This man was supposed to be a feared gang member, not some lost man-baby in need of a mother. At least Boxcars hadn't flinched in the face of his punishment.

"Despite your cowardice, you are free to do as you wish," he said. He didn't want to bother to learn the man's name.

As soon as the words were spoken, winner ran off, leaving his friend Boxcars behind to curse at his retreating form. Though disappointing, this turn of events didn't surprise Vulpes in the least. There was no honor among thieves.

His men took Boxcars to a shaded building where he had a chance of survival. They left him there and one of the junior officers began to direct the others to lay mine traps on the bodies.

Vulpes watched the recruits carefully, flinching as they kicked the mines about and dumped the bodies on top haphazardly.

"Watch what you're doing," he hissed, "or someone's going to get-"

An explosion and a scream cut him off on mid-sentence.

"-that," Vulpes murmured.

He sighed and walked toward the group. Another explosion sounded across town and the junior officer shouted to call the other group's attention. Within seconds, the group met up in front of Vulpes, some of them spattered with blood.

"Mines," he began, "are like women. You-"

He snatched a mine out of the hands of a recruit before he accidentally set it off. They were like toddlers, but he had to remind himself that some of them were only fifteen. He brought recruits with him for this mission in order to break them in, to give them a taste of a successful operation to boost their confidence. Eventually, they'd be good warriors, though he had the suspicion that the majority of them would remain stupid.

"Mines are like women," Vulpes repeated, "You don't put your fingers near the little red button unless you want to set them off. Mines are fragile; they don't do well with rough handling and doing so can spoil them."

He wasn't an explosives expert; if these weren't standard issue mines, then they would have been out of luck. But proper mine safety had to be part of basic training; he'd certainly learned how to disarm a mine very early on. What the hell were they teaching the recruits at Cottonwood Cove?

He showed the recruits how to properly arm and disarm the mines, his hand shooting out to disarm more than one mine because many a recruit had been too slow. All the while, their decanus watched, his tense arms folded across his chest.

"Learn the lesson that has been taught," Vulpes said, handing the decanus a deactivated mine.

A set of footsteps crunched and clanked their way up to the path that led to the town, causing the Frumentarii to stop speaking and the decanus to decipher whether or not he'd be punished later. The recruits tensed, their hands hovering over their weapons.

The person rounded the corner, their hooded head turning every so often to observe various scenes of carnage about the town. And while they looked about, he took the time to study the stranger.

The person who had stumbled into town was a female, her utilitarian clothes covering the entirety of her skin. They clung to her body where sweat had collected; it appeared as if she'd been traveling in the heat all day. Vulpes couldn't imagine the fierce odor she'd be giving off.

A 9mm and a 10mm were holstered on her right side, a bloody cleaver, and a butcher knife on her left. Her back sported an old, rickety hunting rifle and a shotgun in a questionable state of disrepair. And as she turned around, the contents of the rucksack on her back rattled around fiercely. It sounded like a hell of a lot of empty bottles.

His eyes traveled downward and stopped at a gigantic, jiggly ass. He immediately found himself wondering if his reaction should be 'ooh' or 'ew'. It was hard to tell without more information. He settled on the latter; it was always better to err on the side of caution.

"You're strange," he murmured, "Stranger than me even."

"Thanks," the woman replied, as if she sincerely meant it.

That comment wasn't meant for her to overhear; this one was much more perceptive than her appearance led on. He watched as she froze in mid step to stare at one of the crucified then whirl around to stare at another, her overloaded bag clattering all the while. He was reminded of a frightened baby animal.

"Don't worry," he crooned, "I won't have you lashed to a cross like the rest of these degenerates. It's useful that you happened by."

The female turned to look at him, her hooded head tilted to the side.

"I want you to witness the fate of Nipton," he continued, "to memorize every detail. And when you go? I want you to teach everyone the lesson that Caesar's Legion taught here. Especially any NCR troops that you come across."

"Okay," the woman replied.

Vulpes blinked, confused by her inappropriate reaction. What kind of person was this?

"Um," she mumbled, "What's the lesson?"

"This town was a sickness," he replied, "In exchange for a pittance, they lured those they sheltered into a trap. Only when it was too late did they realize that they were caught in the trap as well. Nipton was a town of whores; they had no loyalty and served anyone who had caps. Even as their loved ones were dragged away, each only cared about himself."

"Sounds like they deserved it, then," the woman murmured. It was another surprising and inappropriate response, but not unwelcome.

She glanced around at all of the bodies, as if she were looking for someone.

"So, did a guy in a checkered suit come by?" she asked, "He shot me in the head and I don't remember anything so he probably knows me. I was told he'd be going through here to Novac."

Her hand reached up to massage a spot on her head, presumably where she'd been shot. That was when he saw it. Attached to her arm was a very well kept, working Pip-boy 3000.

In his line of work, it was important to have science skills, namely in electronics and the like. After learning basic hacking skills, Vulpes found himself drawn to technology. And in front of him was something he'd wanted to get his hands on for quite some time, even if to just look. He'd certainly never be allowed to keep one.

"Let me look at your Pip-boy," he smiled, "and I'll tell you about the man in the checkered suit."

The woman fearlessly sidled up to him and presented her arm, leaning into his side. All around him, the recruits tensed up needlessly; this traveler was harmless, the epitome of innocence.

Vulpes played with the device and almost laughed out loud when he saw that she'd logged three coffee mugs, a hammer, a pencil, nine empty Sarsaparilla bottles, and a snow globe into her inventory. He tried not to get blood on the dials as he played around. As he flipped to the data section, he noticed a note from the Mojave Express. This woman was a Courier.

"The man you are looking for is named Benny," he murmured, "He's a very important and influential man on the Strip. But just because he's living a cushy life doesn't mean he's not dangerous; he's a former tribal. His reasons for killing you might not have been personal; it might have just been your package. You should stay away from him until you have more information."

With that, Vulpes released her arm and stepped back. He signaled to his men to round up; they were leaving.

"Don't forget the lesson," he called over his shoulder.

"Kay," she chirped.

Vulpes shook his head and sighed.

"She's going to forget," the decanus murmured, voicing exactly what he'd just been thinking.

That short, big-assed thing wouldn't last very long, especially if the head of the Chairmen had reason to shoot her.


	6. Chapter 6

A/n: I can honestly say that I've never written this much before, this quickly. Thank you, everyone, for your hits, favorites, and awesome reviews.

And another thanks to my beta, TeenZombie, for catching my herpaderps :)

* * *

><p>Craig Boone didn't give a goddamned fuck. He'd told himself that every day. To an extent, it kept the pain at bay.<p>

Dawn was beginning to break; it was Manny's turn now to watch the town. Boone stood from his chair, unmindful that he was leaving his shift a little early. He shuffled down the stairs to his room. It was dark and he didn't bother to turn the lights on.

He knew the bottle of whiskey would be where it always was.

Minutes passed as he stared at Carla's side of the bed, occasionally tipping the bottle against his mouth to draw a long gulp of the radioactive alcohol. It was times like this that he didn't bother to take note of how much he'd had to drink. Then again, almost every day was like this. He'd lost track of the amount of days in a row he'd retreated to the bottle.

Sufficiently numb, Boone tossed the empty bottle onto the floor where it joined the others with a clatter. He stretched out onto the bed, not giving a damn that he was going to pass out with his boots still on.

He'd been thinking of her all day again, remembering the last argument they'd had before she'd been taken.

Carla had stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her slender fingers picked at her hair, a frown spreading across her features. So he'd walked up to her, kissed her on the cheek, and fluffed her hair as huge as he could get it to go. She ran into the bathroom and locked herself in there for over an hour, refusing to come out, even as he told her how beautiful she was, natural hair and all. She'd always been so particular about her hair; it was always straight, always carefully combed and conditioned.

When Carla finally emerged from the bathroom, her hair was mostly gone. He'd asked her why in the hell she'd done that. She yelled that they couldn't afford relaxers for her hair, couldn't afford makeup, couldn't afford wine, couldn't afford dresses, couldn't afford a goddamned thing except a goddamned motel room in the middle of goddamned nowhere in a town of goddamned filthy people. Everything went downhill from there and it ended in him slamming the door on his way out, only to see her again in a slave pen at Cottonwood Cove.

When they'd met, she was a hostess at the Tops. Essentially, she'd been paid to look pretty and make sure that the guests were having a good time. Carla had been used to living at the Strip; rarely had she been outside of the Strip's gates, especially after her parents passed away. She'd had everything she needed there. Throughout their marriage, Boone felt completely impotent. He couldn't give her the fancy things that she was accustomed to, especially on a retired NCR salary. Hell, they could barely afford the rent for their dingy hotel room, let alone the expensive foods, dresses, accessories and whatnot that Carla always had.

In between the frequent shouting matches and apologies, they'd always found a way to work things out. Boone had no doubt that they would last. There was no way that they couldn't. They were in love. There was the baby.

Boone would never forgive himself for arguing with her that day. He'd never forgive himself for not telling her that he loved her one last time. He'd never forgive himself for bringing her to Novac and keeping her unhappy. He'd never forgive himself for letting her die in the filthy squalor of a slave pen.

And as he lay in the dark of his motel room in Novac, memories of soft, chocolatey skin and beautiful brown eyes haunted him. Boone longed to run his hands through Carla's coarse hair one last time.

Instead, he passed out into another nightmarish sleep.

* * *

><p>It'd been a very long walk to get from Nipton to Novac, but Six had been spurred on by the kind executioner's information. Everyone she ran into since she got shot in the head was so nice; it made it difficult to process that someone would actually shoot another person.<p>

And the brewing war at Hoover Dam that she'd heard about didn't make any sense at all to her. The NCR guy she'd met in Primm wasn't so bad; the Legion guy she'd met at Nipton wasn't bad either. If they sat down and chatted, they'd likely get along.

Maybe there were just some mean folks in the world. But it wasn't right that they dragged decent people into their arguments. Maybe the executioner hadn't had a choice. Maybe he'd been dragged into this fight, along with so many others.

Six put those thoughts out of her head as she saw what appeared to be an NCR troop, his uniform a dark green. He hobbled out of his bungalow, smiling at another man who wore a red beret. The two chatted for a moment before the man in green gave a mug of coffee to the man in the red beret.

The man in the green uniform had dark skin and dark eyes. His face was etched with wrinkles as if he'd spent most of his life in the sun. He was clean-shaven and his uniform was spotless.

In contrast, the man in the red beret appeared intentionally sloppy, his manner of dress half-military, half-merc gone tribal. His dark hair was long and shaggy; even his face sported a questionably kept set of scraggly hair.

"Hello," the trooper called, "you look like you're new around town. Anything I can help you with?"

They appeared to be friendly. This town was a nice place. It reminded her somewhat of Goodsprings.

"Is there somewhere I can sleep?" she asked.

Damn if this hood wasn't sweltering. She'd be out of the sun soon anyway; it was coming off.

Six scratched around at the back of her neck to get a hold of the ties that would release her. It took her a while to find them, but when she did, the sweet morning air was well worth it.

And now she could see whom she was talking to much better. The man in green perked up at seeing her face.

"That's a crazy burn you've got there, ma'am," he smiled, "Do you need anything for it? I'm a ranger; I could get something for you easily."

The man in the beret just sighed and shook his head.

"I'm fine," Six replied, "Ruby gave me something for it."

"Okay," the man said, "Well, you'll want to talk to Jeannie May Crawford in the office of that building behind you to get a room. Tell her that Ranger Andy sent you and she might give you a discount."

"Thanks," she smiled, "Also; was there a guy in a checkered suit that came along? He shot me in the head and I was wondering if he knew me."

The man in the red beret swallowed once and Andy nodded at the pair, exiting as quickly as he could.

"I know him," he murmured, "but we should trade a favor for a favor."

Six shrugged. She had no problem with trading favors.

"Our town relies on trade," he continued, "Unfortunately, the area that people use to scavenge for goods, the old rocket test site, has been overrun by ghouls. It's got to get cleaned out, but I can't leave my post here."

"Okay," she replied, "I'll do that then."

The man looked genuinely surprised. Were people unhelpful usually? It didn't make sense to Six in the least. But she'd trade a favor for a favor. She supposed she was an honest person.

Six turned to go find a room but paused in mid-stride and stared at the ground, blinking. There was something she was supposed to say to the NCR.

Oh! The lesson.

"For their whore mongering dissolution, the town of Nipton has been sacked, pillaged, and put to the sword," she announced, "a mighty executioner who wore the mask of a dog spared me as I happened upon the town and called upon me to spread the word of the purity of the Legion's justice. From his lips to your ears; I am the mouth of the masked dog."

Damn, that sounded official. Six was sure that was the way the executioner would have wanted her to say it.

The coffee cup that the red-beret man had been holding fell to the ground.

"Okay, look..." he trailed off.

"Call me Six," she smiled. Each time she introduced herself, the name continued to feel more like her own.

"Six," he sighed, "I'm Manny. I'm just going to say it: what you just said was not normal. Saying things like that around certain people could get you killed. Did getting shot in the head mess with your mental awareness?"

"Yeah," Six murmured. Oh, this was shameful. She was so sick of making mistakes like this. It was embarrassing. She didn't think she was a dumb person, but she apparently knew nothing of common sense.

"Look," Manny said, "Get yourself a room and get some sleep. I'll come by later after my shift is over at sundown and explain more to you about what's going on in the world. Then I can also detail what I'd like you to do for the town. Sound fair?"

Six nodded and the man gave her a pat on the shoulder before leaving. Full of confusion and despair, she trekked across the courtyard to the hotel's office.

The guy in Nipton hadn't seemed bad. Hell, he seemed huggable to her when he'd looked at her pip-boy. Perhaps it wasn't he that was bad; perhaps it was his message.

* * *

><p>Aurelius of Phoenix stood on the balcony of the headquarters at Cottonwood Cove, watching as a group of recruits shuffled their way down the path to the lake. They were led by a tall, thin man who wore the wolf's cloak. The Centurion glanced at the winding stairs behind him, sighed, and opted to leap over the side of the short building. Pre-war people were stupid with their superfluous methods of doing things; it was no wonder they tore each other apart. The inane processes they had must have driven them mad.<p>

He watched as the man in front broke rank and ambled over to him. Aurelius found himself reminded of a sleek war hound as he observed the other's approach. This was no ordinary Vexillarius.

"Ave," the Centurion called, "Smoke rises from Nipton. Do you know of this?"

He was sure that he already knew the answer.

"Indeed," the masked man replied, "it is as if someone slowly slaughtered the town, drawing lots for who would be spared and who would die."

He hadn't been informed of a secret mission to destroy Nipton? Interesting. He'd gotten his answer.

"You must be Vulpes Inculta," Aurelius chuckled, "I hadn't been informed of this operation, so I assume that it came from very high up in command."

"This is correct," he chuckled, "it is sad that you missed our barbeque. I feel most terrible for not extending an invitation. Our secret ingredient was burning tires."

Aurelius laughed once, unsure of whether the young Frumentarii was making fun of him or not. Sometimes his taste for human flesh was held in ill regard, though none dared to say such things to him. He watched Vulpes draw his goggles up and out of his face; the dog mantle now sported them.

"So, this is what the patron saint of Crucifixion looks like," he said.

Vulpes gave a mock showman bow, a wolfish smile breaking out on his blood-speckled face. Admittedly, Aurelius wasn't sure what to make of the young man.

His face was all hollow cheekbones, button nose, and sad eyes; it was a perplexing combination that made the Centurion ponder whether his age was truly twenty-four. Some of his features hinted that he was older; others hinted that he was younger. It was as if he'd been made up of spare parts, though the parts seemed to make an acceptable whole.

"How's the water?" Vulpes asked, motioning toward the docks.

"Full of tires and hot as piss this time of day," Aurelius snorted, "but I have a shower if you feel so inclined."

Was the kid a dandy or something? He wore his enemies' blood until he stunk.

"No, thanks," Vulpes replied, "I'll wait until I can swim."

"Fine by me," Aurelius said, "How did the recruits do?"

Vulpes shrugged and glanced back at the troops, regarding them for a moment.

"As recruits generally are," he replied.

Aurelius assumed that by the vague reply, he had to figure out some sort of problem that the recruits had been having. The idea made him feel somewhat resentful; he'd fought his way to becoming a Centurion, the best of the best. And here was this kid, testing his ability to figure out what was wrong. By the same token, Vulpes was widely known to be a very intelligent man.

He now knew exactly why the Legate hissed and spat about the Frumentarius.

Vulpes offered no further explanation and took his leave, the recruits scattering about the camp to go about their business. Looking toward the docks, Aurelius inwardly groaned as he watched Canyon Runner gaze upon the head Frumentarius with star struck eyes.

Really, there was no accounting for some people's tastes, and that thought came from a cannibal.

Aurelius of Phoenix chuckled to himself and went back inside. At least something vaguely interesting happened that day.


	7. Chapter 7

A/n: Thanks for the hits and alerts, everyone. I'm not going to hold chapters for ransom in exchange for reviews, but it'd be nice to get even a "hey this is cool". So drop me a line if you like; I've got anon reviews on so you wouldn't have to sign in. And as always, thank you everyone for your support :)

* * *

><p><p>

There was something disgusting about Jeannie May Crawford, though Six couldn't put her finger on it. The old woman was filled with a false sincerity that stood out in sharp contrast to her sugary-sweet words.

"We haven't met yet," Six smiled. Would a smile help? Everyone liked it when she smiled.

"Oh what am I doing," the older woman gasped, "I was so excited to make a good first impression that I forgot to tell you my name. I'm Jeannie May Crawford and I run the hotel here in this fine town."

The smile seemed to placate Jeannie, though she remained tense and suspicious.

"I'm Six," she replied, "Andy sent me and said I could rent a room from you."

"Andy?" Jeannie said, "He's such a good man. It's a shame about his leg and all. I'm sure a pretty face such as yours made his day a little brighter. Anyway, I'll give you a good, flat rate and you can stay as long as you like, at least until the busy season comes. Does one hundred caps sound good?"

The compliment was laced with jealousy. Perhaps it was because Six was an outsider; maybe outsiders had done bad things in this town before. Maybe it had just been Jeannie who had been wronged.

Six smiled again and the old woman returned the gesture.

Her smile was tight, as if it hurt to perform the action. Six fumbled around in her pack, trying to find the money. She could tell that Jeannie was running out of patience. Acting cute wouldn't get her out of this one.

Finally, she produced the money, drawing another tight smile from the old woman.

"Here's one hundred caps," Six smiled.

"I'm glad you can stay with us," Jeannie replied, "here's your key. Let me know if there's anything I can do to make your stay better for you."

Six said her thanks and hurried out of the building. She wasn't scared of the old woman, but Six knew that something was up with her.

Sunny Smiles had been obviously kind, as was Doc Mitchell. Andy had really liked her and Manny had been kind as well. Even the blood splattered executioner from Nipton hadn't meant her harm, though he'd slaughtered an entire town.

But Jeannie May Crawford appeared as if she'd sell her firstborn if it'd suited her. It made Six incredibly cautious.

Six walked up the stairs to the room number that was marked on the keys. She unlocked the door, a gust of cool, stale air inviting her in. The cold air box in the room actually worked and she wondered who in the town had enough mechanical know-how to keep it maintained.

She placed her pack in front of the closed door, knowing that if someone opened it, she'd hear it immediately. Novac wasn't Goodsprings or Primm; it didn't have a community feel, despite the fact that it was guarded by a retired sniper and ranger.

But Six remembered her promise to Manny and would keep it. Perhaps he'd be able to shed some light on some of the happenings in the town. The thought of him and Andy brought her some comfort, and she laid down on the bed, keeping the lights on just in case.

She fell into a fitful sleep, all the while dreaming that the crone downstairs would try to do her in if she was displeased.

* * *

><p><p>

Two men sat next to each other in a tent, looking out at the fading Mojave sun as it glistened off of Lake Mead. These were the best times; they were off duty and everyone had evening work to do. Because of their position, they could use the time for leisure.

"Vulpes Inculta should be coming back soon," a voice teased.

Marcus chuckled at his partner's quip. He'd never live his crush down, but he was glad that it didn't make Crassius jealous.

"I'd love to be sandwiched in between you two, you know," he replied, pleased when the other man let out a gasp of mock indignation.

Crassius was a beautiful hulk of a man, his stature and strength rivaling the Legate. But despite his size and battle prowess, Crassius was gentle, soft-spoken and even docile. Many would have counted this as a weakness in the Legion, but the man had fought his way to Centurion and ultimately became one of Caesar's toughest guards.

And as Crassius leaned over and kissed him, Marcus could only be thankful for the heaven he'd been given.

"Your tent back's open," a voice called quietly.

The couple split apart quickly to see who had caught them. Vulpes Inculta stared back, his face slightly red. Marcus opened his mouth to say something but couldn't find the words. They'd been caught; it was exactly what it looked like.

"I don't care what you do so long as it doesn't effect your job," the frumentarius murmured, "but try to be more discreet. We don't need to lose you two to this."

He said nothing more then left, closing the back of the tent behind him.

For a while, the couple stared at each other without a sound.

"So, he looked cute," Marcus chuckled, hoping that it'd diffuse the situation.

"Marcus, this is serious," Crassius hissed.

Marcus sighed and ran a hand through his hair. For a moment, his fingers rubbed along the line that separated the shaved part from the part that he usually spiked into a mohawk.

Crassius was right; this was very serious. Homosexuals were crucified if they were discovered. Because they were two of Caesar's elite guards, no quarter would be given. Vulpes was fair and honest in his dealings with others; it sounded like he wouldn't let anyone know of what he'd seen. But in the same token, if the subject ever came up, he wouldn't lie to Caesar.

They were due to be back on duty in a few minutes.

Marcus looked into the pleading eyes of the man next to him and his heart broke.

"Listen," he mumbled, "If anything happens, I want you to know that I love you."

In an instant, he found himself on the receiving end of the most incredible kiss he'd had in his life. He wished that they had time to do more, but lovemaking would have to wait. They broke apart and Marcus leaned up to kiss Crassius on the cheek.

Together, the couple stood and walked toward their respective posts. When they entered, Vulpes was already there, talking with Caesar. Marcus swallowed the knot in his throat.

"And how was your break, gentlemen?" Caesar asked.

He fought the urge to react; Caesar never asked of their breaks before. But Vulpes wouldn't tell, would he? Perhaps Caesar was just in a good mood.

"It was nice," Marcus replied, "the lake is nice this time of day." Hopefully he didn't look nervous.

"Please," Vulpes snorted, "I saw you observing that one that walked by your tent; the one with the reddish brown hair. Looking at the lake, my ass."

"Oh?" Caesar chuckled, "Is this woman a new capture?"

Marcus smiled, trying not to laugh. Crassius had red-brown hair. Vulpes was a wonderful, clever man.

"I believe she may have been around for a while," the frumentarus smiled, "a decanus has his eye on her though."

His eyes pierced through Marcus. The Praetorian read the warning loud and clear: they had to be very careful from now on. The eyes of Caesar were everywhere.

"Let him have her," Marcus smiled, "it was just art appreciation."

Mars bless Vulpes Inculta.

* * *

><p><p>

Caesar laughed at Marcus' declaration. It made him feel younger to be around men like him and Vulpes. At times, it almost made him forget the worried looks of Lucius as he groaned in pain, grabbing his throbbing head. But Edward knew he was an old man and that his days were numbered.

"So, how's Nipton?" he asked, cutting straight to business.

"Drawn, quartered, captured, beaten, crucified," Vulpes replied, "We had a lottery for who received which punishment."

A lottery? Interesting. Vulpes was getting more and more creative.

"Then the NCR will see that we can sneak in under their very noses," Caesar chuckled, "Well done."

Vulpes smiled and lowered his head; Caesar could tell that he was very pleased. The Frumentarius lived to seek his approval constantly and never did he disappoint. Often times, he rewarded Vulpes with books, always careful to select things that would train him properly. He was such a bright young man; even as Caesar had known him for years, he still felt a twinge of guilt when he presented him with works in a context that was intentionally misinformed.

But he couldn't let the sad blue eyes fool him. Vulpes was incredibly smart and deceptively strong. If he wasn't too careful, he'd get too clever for his own good. Caesar still remembered the day when he'd reversed his crucifixion orders and gave him a new job as one of the frumentarii.

The eighteen year old decanus had stood in his tent, naked, flogged, and half-delirious with blood loss. When questioned about breaking rank, he'd replied that advancing the Legion was important, even at the cost of his own life. That day, Caesar saw great potential in the sad-eyed, knobby-kneed, scrawny man-child.

And as the years passed, he watched Vulpes grow out of an awkward, stubborn adolescence and into a much more reserved, though strangely-humored, young man. But with his growth came a notoriously voracious sexual appetite. From his sparse readings on psychology, Caesar chalked it up to the frumentarius finally becoming comfortable in his own skin. And good for him; he'd been such an unfortunate looking, pimply boy. Let him spread his genes around. He turned out to be pleasing to look at and would make excellent offspring for the Legion.

"Something curious happened as we were leaving," Vulpes' voice sounded, causing Edward to snap back into reality.

'Tired, old musings' was what he'd come to call his thoughts lately. He needed smart young men like this around to keep his mind sharp.

"Oh?" Caesar said. This was sure to be interesting. His full attention fell on the Fountain of Youth before him.

"A woman wearing a Pip-boy walked into town, armed to the teeth, her pack loaded down with an assortment of junk," Vulpes continued, "she was a courier, sent to deliver a package to the Lucky 38 when, on her delivery, was accosted by the head of the Chairmen and shot in the head."

Murmurs rose from all corners of the tent. Shot in the head? Survived? How does that happen? Caesar wondered just the same. Vulpes had some of the most interesting stories of his travels.

"She didn't get off easily," he said, "She remembered nothing, except a man in a checkered suit. She's tracking him as he slinks his way back to The Tops. She showed no fear until she saw the crucified, and even then, she relaxed when I told her that she'd be spared."

Fascinating. This individual could be an interesting study.

"Perhaps when memories and propriety are stripped clean from the mind," Caesar mused, "there is an animal instinct that guides the individual. Keep your eye on this one, Vulpes. Animals can accomplish much."

"I shall," Vulpes replied, "Caesar is wise."

Caesar had a very strong suspicion that this woman would soon become important in the days ahead.


	8. Chapter 8

A teary-eyed Six walked away from the Repconn facility, Chris Haversham in tow. Her hood hung limply from her fingers as she silently cried and thought of the ghouls who had just exploded. It was senseless; surely, the world wasn't so terrible that they had to leave it in a rickety old rocket. Though they looked absolutely icky, they were people, innocent people whose lives had been extinguished in an instant.

Behind her, the stony-faced scientist trudged on, his shoulders hunched in defeat. In a matter of minutes, he'd lost everything. And though they were similar in that they had nothing, Six had the advantage of not remembering what she'd lost. She knew that there would be no words to comfort him.

Instead, she'd offered to bring him to the town of Novac where he'd hopefully be able to start his life over. She promised that he'd fit in, and with Andy and Manny, she was confident that he'd at least have two friends. Cliff Briscoe was nice too.

It was dark by the time they shuffled into town, the gravel crunching under her boots. Six walked toward the dinosaur with purpose, hoping that Manny would give her information and possibly provide Chris with a place to stay.

Wooden boards creaked under her feet and the old door squealed on its hinges as it opened. Cliff Briscoe jolted awake at the noise.

"Sorry," she murmured, "I'll be just a minute. This is Chris Haversham; he's a scientist and he'll be staying in town for a while."

Cliff was a nice guy. Before she set off to the rocket test site, he'd helped her go through her things, giving her a crash course in what was of value and what was essentially junk. She'd laughed out loud as she told him about all the strange looks she got from the men she saw in Nipton. He chuckled too and then gave her a stern warning about the dangers of a lady happening upon Legion men while all alone. She asked why that was the case, and he solemnly told her about how the Legion enslaved women and forced them to do awful things, such as being forced to have many babies. Six didn't ask much about it after that. Bringing up the Legion with anyone was a touchy subject.

"Stay here," she murmured, looking at Chris, "I'll be back in a bit."

With that, Six walked up the stairs to the sniper's nest, careful to be quiet so as to not awaken anyone else. The door opened soundlessly.

"Hey," Six called.

The man in the chair jumped and cursed, knocking over his bottle of scotch.

"Don't sneak up on me like that," he hissed, "you could've gotten shot."

"You're not Manny," Six observed.

"No shit," the man replied, narrowing his eyes at her.

No, he definitely wasn't Manny. Appearance wise, this man was a pile of contradictory information. He protected the town, yet he was rude with her. And though he was clean-shaven and dressed spotlessly, he reeked of stale booze. Before she could get a better look at him, the man turned around and sat in his chair.

"So, who are you?" She asked. Six smiled at his back, hoping that maybe he knew that she meant no harm.

"Doesn't matter," he murmured, "You're a stranger, and I don't care. Get lost." The words he'd spoken lacked bite, as if he wasn't sure if he meant them or not.

He shifted and leaned over to grab his fallen bottle of scotch. Deflated, Six turned to leave.

"Wait," he called, as she was halfway through the door.

The man stood, tossed his hands in defeat, and reached over to close the door so that they'd be alone. He began to pace, shaking his head.

"Call me Boone," he said, "You're not from around here, so you can help me."

Six blinked at his sudden change in mood. He sounded lost, almost desperate.

"My wife was captured by the Legion," Boone mumbled, "and I know it was a setup. They knew where to go, and they did it when I was on duty. They took only Carla."

Her eyes grew wide at this information. Who would do such a thing?

"Can't we go find her?" she asked, "I might be able to help."

She thought of the executioner from Nipton, knowing that asking him for a favor would be an extreme long shot. Maybe he hadn't gotten too far.

"Carla's dead," he replied, "I know it. I want the son of a bitch who sold her. I don't know if there's anything to find, but I've got to have someone try."

So it was an inside job? He had to be desperate to trust only strangers.

"What do I do if I find this person?" Six asked.

"Bring them out in front of the dinosaur while I'm on duty," he said, "I'll give you my NCR beret to put on; it'll be our signal that I know you're standing with him. I'll do the rest."

"Okay," she murmured.

Boone removed his beret, revealing tightly cut blonde hair. The hat passed from his hand to hers and she immediately stuffed it in her bag so nobody would know that she had it.

"Good," he nodded, "It's best we don't speak until this is over. Nobody in town knows that I know what happened. I'd like to keep it that way."

Six said her goodbyes, receiving only a grunt in reply. Quietly, she left the sniper's nest and trudged back down the stairs, her heart heavy with what she's just heard. Cliff Briscoe gave her a sad smile when she walked into the room.

"Don't worry about Boone," Cliff murmured, shaking his head, "he's not been the same since Carla disappeared."

"Carla?" she asked. Maybe she could play innocent, and no one would suspect anything.

"His wife," he replied, "Though I can't say I knew her. He did most of the buying for them. I saw her come into the shop once, though. Looked as if she smelled something sour. I don't think the shop smelled though, so I'm not sure what it was."

She nodded and instantly knew that Cliff certainly wasn't the one. He had no reason to do such a thing. Unfortunately, she had nothing to go off of.

"Well, he wasn't so bad," Six said, "I went up there thinking it'd be Manny. Do you know where he is?"

She needed to let Manny know that her half of the deal was complete, though she knew that she couldn't leave until she'd finished helping Boone find his wife's betrayer. She'd said yes, and that meant that she had to do it.

"Manny is probably in bed by now," Cliff replied, "you'll be able to catch him tomorrow maybe. Then again, with the explosion that went off a few hours ago, he might be awake yet."

Six nodded and tried not to think of what had caused the explosion. She looked over at Chris, his tired face barely containing his emotion. Walking over to the door, she hooked her fingers around the crook of his elbow. They left the dinosaur and Six took a gulp of the night air.

It was still hot, and it threatened to overwhelm her as her mind refused to forget the image of the crowded rocket careening into the ground. And by the time they reached the middle of the courtyard, she stopped, and threw her arms around the startled scientist. Six couldn't form the words to describe how awful she felt for him, so she let her hug say what she couldn't.

"Damned bleeding heart," Chris huffed, "I'll be fine. Besides, your friend over there is giving us an odd look."

Six broke apart from him to see Manny leaning against the wall of the hotel, his arms crossed. Six walked over to him and smiled.

"So, I assume that the explosion had something to do with what we talked about," he drawled, "Let's go inside to discuss my end of the deal. The suit can come with you, I guess."

Six watched as Chris frowned. She wasn't sure what a 'suit' was, but apparently, Chris didn't like it. She'd have to make a mental note to find out discreetly what one was.

Manny turned and opened the door to his room, Six and Chris following behind. She hadn't been prepared for what awaited her.

There were multiple mattresses strewn about; a lop-sided couch faced the door. And on the left side of the room was a table, complete with a stack of dirty dishes. Six immediately knew what this meant.

Manny had been holding out on her; he'd housed the people she was trying to hunt down.

The door closed and Six crossed her arms, glowering at the man who tricked her.

"So, I figured I ought to come clean with you," he sighed, "the man in the checkered suit, Benny, came by a few nights ago with some people I used to run with in a gang. I didn't know what they'd done and they were looking for a place to sleep. They're headed to Boulder City then up to New Vegas. They're taking the safest route possible, so you shouldn't have a problem getting to the city. I had no idea they'd shot you, I promise."

Six nodded, finding this acceptable. He wasn't an accomplice; he was merely an accessory, an unknowing accessory at that.

"Sounds good." she replied. "By the way, this is Chris."

The sniper's head tilted to the side as he regarded the other man. She could tell that the scrutiny bothered Chris, even though he was misconstruing Manny's curiosity as something negative.

"I'm Manny," the sniper smiled, shaking the confused scientist's hand.

Perhaps Chris wasn't used to nice people. He'd indicated as much.

"I, uh," Manny mumbled, "I've got a lot of space in here if you need somewhere to sleep. I think the hotel's full at the moment. And uh, you don't need to pay rent to me. It'd be nice having someone around."

Chris nodded and looked around; Manny's kindness had stunned him into silence. Mutely, he sat in a chair, as if unsure what to do with himself.

The silence was awkward. Six had to say something.

"So," Six smiled, "I went up in the sniper's nest thinking you'd be there."

Manny's face fell and she almost regretted what she'd said.

"I used to be Boone's spotter," he said, "then his wife went missing and he's stopped talking to me."

Six nodded and carefully thought out what she'd say next. She had to investigate, yet she had to be careful not to arouse suspicion.

"Do you know anything about her disappearance?" she asked, "Does anyone?"

He sighed and sat down, putting his head in his hands.

"When I heard the news, my first thought was 'I owe someone, big'," Manny said, "but Boone hasn't been the same since."

"Why?" she pressed, "Who would want to hurt Boone's wife?"

"To be honest," he replied, "everybody. She was a bitch. She had no friends in this town and didn't want any either. All day, she'd sit in her room and complain about how she had it much better in Vegas and that this town was horrible. You could hear the shouting matches they had through the walls. And she went out of her way to be rude."

"Why would anyone want to marry someone like that?" Six mused. This Carla sounded insufferable.

"Because she was pretty," Manny sighed, "and nobody could compete with that."

He looked broken and defeated as he stared at the floor in silence. It was then that Six knew that she was involved in something she may not have wanted to become involved in. But from looking at Manny, she couldn't just leave the situation when she'd seen too much.

Did he do it? She doubted that he did. Though he resented Carla, he wasn't evil. She knew this.

"I'm sorry I brought it up," Six mumbled, "anyway, I should be going. I've got to prepare for my trip to Boulder City."

She gave both men a quick hug before making her exit. Hopefully, they'd be able to share their misfortunes with each other. As for Six, she had to find this dangerous person that was betraying people.


	9. Chapter 9

A/n: This chapter is dark and contains descriptions of sex, as well as mentioning child molestation in detail; though those descriptions aren't explicit, they are raw. Everyone has been warned :/

* * *

><p>Boone sat at his post in the mouth of Dinky the Dinosaur, staring out at the bleak Mojave landscape. He still couldn't believe that he trusted a stranger with the truth of what happened to Carla, but something about the strange woman's face said that she wouldn't do him any harm.<p>

It wasn't as if he could be harmed any more than he'd already gotten anyway.

His life was in absolute shambles; it had been ever since Bitter Springs. He'd had two years of reprieve since he'd met Carla. Then, after her disappearance, his life went back to the same hellish nightmares where he stared down toddlers in his scope, picking them off, making their tiny heads shatter. He'd woken up in a half-digested puddle of scotch on multiple occasions; it was becoming routine all over again.

Maybe the newcomer would find who sold Carla, though he suspected that he knew already. Manny never liked Carla and he'd been glad when he found out that she went missing.

And when he found out who really did it, he'd kill them. He'd kill all the sons of bitches that did this, including any Legion that he came across.

Craig Boone would never forgive them, any of them.

The crunch of gravel under people's feet drew his attention. The footsteps were coming from town, a pair of footsteps. His heart began to race and his hands gripped his sniper rifle tightly as he thought of the implications.

The stranger from earlier stepped into view, a confused Jeannie May Crawford following behind her clumsily.

Boone's stomach turned as he realized that the culprit wasn't Manny. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or angry, and he didn't have time to process the emotion as the woman removed his beret from her pack and placed it on her head.

Craig Boone exhaled and fired.

The stranger removed the beret and began to walk toward the dinosaur while he stared at the lifeless body of the betrayer. Shaking hands moved to his side to grab his bottle of scotch and uncork the lid. He took a few gulps, his body long used to the burning liquid as it hit his stomach. The bottle was back on the floor before the stranger opened the door to his nest.

"How'd you know?" he asked, standing.

Wordlessly, the woman handed him a piece of paper. He unfolded it, his eyes scanning the page.

It was a bill of sale; it was solid proof.

Boone reached into his pocket and gave the stranger every last cap he had.

"Here," he mumbled, "this is everything I've got. I think our business is done here."

The woman took the caps but stayed, blinking at him.

"So, what will you do now?" she asked.

The thought hadn't occurred to him and he shrugged.

"Maybe I'll wander, like you," he replied, "as long as I get to kill Legionaries, I don't care."

The woman's eyes got big for a second before she leaned in to him, getting too close. Boone backed up, his lower back hitting his chair.

"Are you an outlaw now?" she whispered. She reminded him of a young child, all wide eyes.

"No," he chuckled, "People die out there all the time. Besides, I was on break when it happened."

"You weren't on break," she murmured, "I saw-"

She stopped in mid sentence and her mouth formed an 'o'. Boone almost laughed; he knew he was dumb, but this woman was in a whole different league of clueless.

"Well, since you're going to go wandering," she said, "we should wander together."

Boone shifted on his feet, considering her offer. He wanted to get out of Novac; there was nothing to tie him down.

"What's your name?" he grunted. He'd been so eager for help that he'd never learned the woman's name. He was getting careless.

"Six," the woman chirped.

She was obnoxiously cheerful for someone who'd just led an old woman to her death and Boone wondered if she was all right in the head. Still, it was a way out of Novac. If she turned out to be batshit insane, he'd leave and go his own way.

"Fine," he replied. Boone turned to sit back down at his post.

"So, uh," Six fidgeted for a moment, "we'll leave in the morning."

He grunted a reply and the woman scurried away to leave him with his thoughts.

Boone took another swig from his bottle of scotch and stared at Jeannie May's corpse, wondering when stupid shit would stop happening to him.

* * *

><p>Martina Grosebeck chuckled quietly to herself as Mr. Fox moaned in her ear.<p>

"What?" he grunted, his breath coming in short pants.

He was extremely perceptive; something that continually surprised her, despite the fact that they'd been having this tryst for a while.

"You're so vocal," she smiled, "It's refreshing." It was the truth; most men were determined to be absolutely stoic in bed. But Fox, on the other hand, let her know that he was enjoying it as much as her.

He stretched out over her, resting his hands over top of hers on the footboard where she'd been holding on for dear life. He'd been unusually rough and fast, almost disrespectful, that night and Martina could tell that he was losing interest.

She knew that it wouldn't last forever; Fox was known for his many women. He only kept one at a time, and when he grew bored, they were tossed away. Unlike other women, she'd take his rejection with dignity. This wasn't marriage; it wasn't even a casual date. They met up, fucked, and went their separate ways.

Giselle came to her mind and she almost laughed outright, catching herself quickly before she did. Her ex-friend had been used then thrown away by Fox. Swearing revenge, the woman intentionally caught warts in an attempt to give them to him. He had a reputation for being incredibly meticulous about his women, making sure that they didn't have so much as a single crab; Giselle would have absolutely ruined him had she succeeded in her plan. But Fox never went back to the same woman after he'd moved on.

Martina's thoughts ended when he continued. She moaned in appreciation as he found the right spot; he found it every time, all the time. Damn, the man knew what he was doing.

It didn't take long before she was hit with an intense wave of pleasure, her arms threatening to buckle. Martina tried to catch her breath but he persisted. She wondered if this would be one of the nights that they'd collapse from exhaustion afterward.

Fox became desperate above her, unable to keep his rhythm. Perhaps they'd have their energy after all.

"I don't want to pull out," he hissed, punctuating his statement with a brutal thrust.

Oh, hell no.

Martina attempted to scramble out from under him and succeeded to a point. He grabbed her tightly as he came against her backside, her arms held at a painfully awkward angle against her breasts. The whole time, he gasped and moaned as if he'd never had an orgasm before. God, but he was so vocal.

"You're really an ass sometimes," she sighed. Martina waited for him to collect himself and loosen his grip before she turned around to sit down and face him.

"I know," he replied, laughing and sitting back on his haunches. She didn't like him when he looked like this; the predatory gleam in his eyes made her want to never let him come back.

"Do you really think that's funny?" Martina asked, "How many women have you gotten pregnant?"

He shrugged and smiled. It was as if a switch had been hit and he was a sleazy sweetheart again.

"Don't care," he murmured, "Are you really that mad? I suppose I would have gotten you a cola to take care of it."

Because nothing was more fun than shoving a cold Sarsaparilla up one's twat in order to prevent pregnancy. Charming.

"Nope," she replied, "You ended up out anyway, so I don't care. I have no self-respect."

"Neither do I," he laughed.

Fox stood to clean himself off. He'd probably leave soon and she suspected that this time, he'd be gone for good.

* * *

><p>Even as an adult, he remembered everything about what happened in those hot, summer days when his instructor vested his sickness upon him. Vulpes remembered the color of the curtains, the stale smell of the small outbuilding, the particles of dust in the air, the number of tiles on the ceiling.<p>

It wasn't until he was twelve that he learned that what he assumed to be affection was something disgusting, a perversion of nature. That was the time he'd lost his virginity for a second time after being thrown at a slave woman.

He'd been locked in a windowless room with a woman in her late thirties and was told to take what was his. His peers had a similar coming of age experience, with all of thirty seconds of intercourse. Though in Vulpes' case, those thirty seconds were followed by at least twenty minutes of sobbed confession, the naked slave woman holding the equally naked boy to her chest, crying along with him.

She'd told him to stay strong, that it wouldn't last forever. When the used became old enough, everyone lost interest.

The tears dried and he left the room. Vulpes was met with shocked faces, some smirking, and an extremely jealous instructor. They'd mistaken the noises they'd heard inside and it was better to go with their assumption than to let it be known that he'd been crying. From that night on for about a week, the takings had been brutal.

But the slave woman had been right. The more ungainly, knobby, and pimpled he became, the less his instructor paid him mind. And by his first real battle, the perversion stopped.

Vulpes shook the memories from his head, stretched back in bed, and wrapped his arm around Martina Grosebeck, leaning over to kiss her neck. She was a beautiful African woman, with big, black eyes and long, well-formed legs. He enjoyed his time with her; she never asked for anything of him, despite the fact that it was apparent that he was wealthy. In turn, he gifted her occasionally and always made sure to please her in bed. They had a nice arrangement; she was one of his longest running dalliances. He usually left her, but tonight, he felt extremely physical. Even if he'd been satiated, Vulpes wanted someone warm next to him.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked. She scooted closer to him and tucked her body next to his.

It a typical question of a woman, but Martina had spoken it with such sincerity that he felt obliged to answer.

"My Uncle," he murmured. The word seemed to fit.

"So, do you think of your uncle often after sex?" she chuckled.

Had she known, she wouldn't have said it that way. He couldn't be mad.

"Yes," Vulpes sighed, "he provided me with my first sexual experiences."

Martina shifted to turn around and face him, her expression shocked and upset.

"I was molested," he mumbled.

It was the first time he'd used such cold, naked words to describe what happened. And as Martina Grosebeck snuggled her way closer to him, murmuring an endless stream of apologies, he was reminded of the slave woman that comforted him so long ago.

It was the second time he'd told someone about those hot, summer afternoons, the second time he'd used those words aloud. Something in his world shifted as he stared into her watery eyes and he kissed her. She clung to him, her attempts at comforting him causing him to become aroused.

Vulpes sat up quickly, shocked and angered at his reaction. He stumbled into his clothes while Martina looked on with large, glassy eyes.

"I won't tell anyone," she cried, "even if you never come back, I promise."

He paused for a moment and sighed, listening to the sound of her sniffles. He knew she wouldn't tell anyone. She'd never even asked about the scars on his back that were obviously from a brutal flogging, unlike many of the other women he'd been with. She was a good girl, but she'd gotten too close.

"It's not you; it's me," Vulpes murmured. It was a disgusting cliché of a phrase, but it perfectly summed up what had transpired. He'd never forgive himself for being so indiscreet.

Vulpes Inculta left the room, vowing never to repeat his mistake.


	10. Chapter 10

A/n: This chapter is what it looks like, but it'll swing around differently eventually.

* * *

><p>"And that's why they wrap the silverware in two sets of napkins," Martina said.<p>

Captain Ronald Curtis leaned back against his desk, his arms crossed. There was something off about Martina today, more so than usual. Her eyes were puffy as if she'd been crying all night.

"Martina," he sighed, "What's going on? You look very tired." She frowned, unable to meet his gaze, and he knew exactly what was going on.

"It was Fox, wasn't it?" the frumentarius asked. He almost punched the wall when she nodded.

Damn his boss and his inability to keep his dick out of every hole that crossed his path.

"You knew that he'd move on eventually," Curtis sighed, "and you said you'd be okay with that."

Martina sighed and ran a shaky hand through her hair.

"I'm not going to betray his trust," she mumbled, "but I know exactly why he can't just settle down."

What? Vulpes would never give his identity away, right?

"So he's living a double life, he's secretly gay or…?" Curtis ended the statement as a question.

She shook her head, her eyes getting teary again.

He frowned. It was usually very easy to get information out of Martina; it was why she was his informant. And even though this was his boss's private life, he had to know for sure that they hadn't been compromised.

"Martina," he sighed, "I can't have you keeping secrets from me. The NCR needs to know anything possibly relevant about the Strip."

She continued to shake her head, denying that it had any meaning to their business. He was losing his patience.

"Now," Curtis hissed.

"He was molested as a child," she cried, "there. You know it now. It was completely irrelevant and you know it now."

The frumentarius pursed his lips in anger. Child molesters? In his Legion? Martina was good at getting secrets out of people, too good. He dismissed her after assuring her that the secret wouldn't go anywhere.

And it wouldn't, on his honor as a man of the Legion.

Picus turned, sat down at his desk, and put his head in his hands, wishing he hadn't pressed Martina for the information. He felt helpless, knowing that the man who did such things could be still alive.

He thought of his boss, the sad-eyed, reedy young man who'd clawed his way up the ranks in a very short amount of time. Since Vulpes became head of the Frumentarii, things became much more organized. Their branch was assembled and organized in an almost machine-like fashion, and the Fox knew everyone's name, all of their past assignments, and it was likely that he knew almost every intimate detail of their lives. Though fair in his dealings, Vulpes was absolutely brutal in the way in which he punished failures and wrongdoings. He was a hand of justice; the Legion needed more men with a stark sense of morality like him.

Why hadn't he exacted revenge? If Picus knew who had done it, he'd kill the son of a bitch himself.

This was troubling and it was frustrating to know that he couldn't do a damn thing about it.

* * *

><p>Six and Boone set out in the opposite direction of Boulder City, toward Ranger Station Charlie. She'd told herself that it wasn't very far out of the way and she felt good doing something for Andy. Six shuffled forward in the dust, accidentally stepping on her boot string again. She flailed for a second before a strong set of arms grabbed her.<p>

"You gonna tie your boots anytime," Boone asked, "or are you just going to trip over yourself all day?"

Yeah, she'd better get on that.

Six leaned over and tied a knot in the laces, frustrated that it wouldn't hold for very long. And try as she might, she couldn't quite get the strings to function the way they ought to.

"Don't you know how to tie your shoes?" Boone asked.

She turned and shook her head, becoming ashamed. The sniper backed up and his expression turned sour.

"Look," he said, "there's something off with you. I wouldn't bother asking, but you're more than just a little shifty."

Six hastily told Boone what had happened to her, sparing no detail. She told him about Sunny and the healing powder, Ruby and Johnson from Primm, the man at Nipton, and all the ghouls that went to heaven. His frown got worse with each passing sentence and she wondered if she shouldn't have told him everything. Gently, he steered her toward a rock and made her sit, pulling one of her boots on his knee.

"This is how you tie a shoe," he grunted, "I'm glad you know how to shoot, but the little things like this could get you in trouble."

Six nodded and watched carefully. She followed his motions with the second boot and succeeded. Her hands apparently knew what to do when they were in the right position.

Boone stepped back to cool his thirst with some scotch, and Six watched him intently. She supposed he was handsome, at least to her. His face wasn't much of anything and his physique was that of a barely-together soldier. But the thing that she found attractive was the passion she saw occasionally. It was like a flicker of a small flame, flaring up at times then dimming until it was almost dead. Six wanted to see more of this; she wanted happiness and smiles and that flame from Boone.

"Thanks," she said, "sometimes I have problems with remembering some of the most common things."

She hesitated for a moment. Even though he was nice, there was something very wrong with Boone. She suspected it was more than just his wife being sold.

"You're really nice," she continued, "I'm glad you're here with-"

A sharp bark of laughter cut her off.

"I'm not nice," Boone laughed, "and I'm definitely not a good person."

He offered no further explanation and tipped the bottle of scotch back against his lips. In silence, they continued their trip.

Six stared down the railroad tracks that led to the outpost around the bend. She didn't believe that Boone wasn't a good person, and she didn't buy his attempts at being mean. But if he was determined to keep up those lies, then she'd let him. He'd come around eventually.

The station came into sight and immediately, Six knew something was wrong. It was eerily quiet; there wasn't a ranger in sight. She slowed to a creep, crouching with her pistol at ready. Behind her, Boone readied his rifle, sneaking along at a safe distance. Six paused at the entrance. She kept her side to the scrap metal that fenced the area off. There was nobody there, but she rounded the corner with caution nonetheless.

A sigh passed her lips and Six holstered her weapon.

"It's been picked through," she murmured, pointing at the multiple overturned tables and bullet holes around the area.

"This stinks," Boone whispered, "a whole station of rangers? This smells of Legion."

Six nodded in agreement; this had been a very skilled attack. Wordlessly, she opened the door to the command station, her weapon poised to fire at a second's notice.

That was when the smell hit her.

Six stumbled backward, gagging on the stench of decaying bodies. She'd smelled it before, but not in this capacity and certainly not in the same quantity. Boone stepped back and allowed her to stumble back into the Mojave heat. And while she gulped in as much fresh air as she could, the sniper disappeared inside the building.

In seconds, Boone reemerged, his face set in a tight scowl. He clutched a holotape and wordlessly handed it to her.

Six loaded the tape into her Pip-boy, frowning as it played the Legion's message. They took someone alive? They'd be long gone by now.

"The bodies have mines around them," Boone murmured, "they don't want us to bury the dead, so they do that and force us to leave the bodies rotting. Let's go."

"Mines?" Six asked. She wasn't sure what those were.

Boone swore under his breath at her question and began to leave the compound. She tilted her head to the side, wondering if he'd get the hint that she didn't know what he was talking about.

"Mines are these disks that explode when you touch them," he explained, "they have a red light on them and they will kill you."

Mines. That's what those things were in Primm. She had a word for them now. Learning about the world was strangely comforting; it made her feel as if she was part of it, not just some bystander.

"We should go to Andy and let him know-," Six said.

"No," Boone interjected, "We're going to the Mojave outpost first to let them know. We'll tell Andy later."

He lifted his bottle of scotch to his lips and took a long draught of the liquid before trudging off down the road. Six jogged to catch up, looking at her pip-boy to try to mark the location of the outpost.

"We're going around Nipton," he groused, and Six understood.

She knew that seeing things the Legion had done was tough for Boone, and despite the mean face he put on, she knew it upset him. What had he been like before his life had been ruined? For some reason, Six pictured a starry-eyed young man with dreams of being a hero.

And though it was no business of hers, Boone certainly liked his drink. She wondered what was so special about it. Was it better than water? Could she have some? There was something she was supposed to remember about scotch.

Six kept these questions to herself as she trudged faithfully beside her silent, angry companion. They had a long way to go to get to the Mojave outpost, and it didn't look like Boone wanted to stop anytime soon.

* * *

><p>They'd walked for what seemed like ages and it was nearly sunset by the time they reached the Mojave outpost. Six collapsed in the shade of two gigantic statues as a pale woman with a cowboy hat approached the pair.<p>

"Heya, Red," she drawled, looking at Boone, "you look like you've been swimming for all the sweat you've got on ya."

"Charlie's been taken," he murmured, "and Nipton." The sniper stared on with hollow eyes as the woman hissed out a long string of curses.

"Well," she sighed, "thanks for letting me know. The Sergeant is going to shit kittens. Come in and get a drink and rest up."

Boone walked over to Six, offering her his hand. Accepting his help, Six stumbled her way to her feet, nearly running into her companion. She murmured an apology as she tried to catch her breath. The pale woman was upon her in an instant. She yanked the hood off and Six greedily gulped the hot desert air.

"Yeah, you probably need to figure something else out for shade," the woman sighed, "unless it's your plan to have your sniper carrying you the whole way."

She was right. The hood was impractical.

"I'm Six," she smiled, "Who are you?"

"Ghost," the woman replied. She wrapped her arm around the Courier's shoulders and ushered her into the compound.

"What do you do?" Six asked.

"I'm a ranger," the woman answered, "You?"

"I'm a courier," Six chirped, "I was shot in the head."

Boone shook his head and sighed, making Six wonder what she'd done wrong. Together, they walked into the barracks, a blast of cool air relieving the Courier. Ghost ushered Six and Boone over to the bar and ordered drinks for them.

It was then that Six saw a pretty ginger-haired lady at the bar, barely able to sit up. All around her, empty glasses and bottles littered the table; this woman appeared to like brown drinks like Boone did. Maybe they could all share some.

"Hi, I'm Six," she smiled, "What's your name?"

The woman looked up at her and glowered. What came out of her mouth definitely wasn't her name.

After all, 'fuck off', would have been a horrible thing to name a child.


	11. Chapter 11

A/n: I know that some people are wondering what the hell I'm doing with Six and Boone and Fox and his many women, but trust me on this. It'll swing around eventually :)

* * *

><p>Six could tell that Boone was really frustrated with her, but she didn't care. Cassidy was stuck at the Mojave Outpost until someone cleared the animals away from the roads.<p>

It'd taken a while to pry Cassidy's story from her mouth, but Six found herself glad that she did. It wasn't right to leave someone adventurous cooped up in a bar. She'd said the same to Cass; Cass replied that she was dumb but sweet. Six received Cass' goodwill in the form of a trader's hat that had flaps that could be drawn down in case of the sun or a windstorm.

The location of the problem wasn't far from the outpost and Six wondered why the NCR couldn't just take care of it themselves. They'd have some serious trouble from the Legion if all their soldiers were unskilled enough not to be able to take care of animals on a road, especially since the Legion had taken out a whole town.

She and Boone crested the top of a hill to look out over a run-down underpass. All around the rubble, creatures scuttled around for food, their red, hairy bodies glistening in the midday sun. They were absolutely fascinating and horrifying at the same time; their abstract-looking bodies were something she'd never seen before.

"What are those?" she whispered, motioning toward the bizarre creatures.

"Ants," Boone replied.

The smell of scotch enveloped her as he scooted up next to her crouching form and put his arm around her for balance.

"There's eight," he murmured, pointing each creature out, "Shoot em in the head and they'll die quickly. You don't want to be bitten though so make sure you get it when you get it. Start with the big ones; they're the guards."

"Left," Six called, readjusting her varmint rifle in its sling.

They both readied their weapons and fired, each working from opposite directions. As soon as an ant lifted its head to investigate, it was struck down. They scratched around on their hairy legs and their feelers waved in the air in an attempt to figure out where the threat was coming from. But the pair of snipers remained hidden. Boone fired a shot and the last ant collapsed to the ground, its legs and body curling inward in death.

That was what the NCR was having a problem with? Together, with Boone, Six realized that she had the fighting value of more than an entire outpost of NCR troops. People were being killed out here because the NCR followed some of the most convoluted rules and regulations. It made Six wonder about the rule of the Legion. They seemed to like things orderly.

"Let's go back," she murmured.

Boone simply shrugged and trailed behind her.

* * *

><p>Victoria Gunderson sat in her little corner of the Ultra Luxe, waiting for her husband and son to get back from The Tops. Heck had assumed that she'd get along with the highbred ladies of the White Glove Society and he couldn't have been farther from the truth. These women were catty; if you weren't one of them, you'd be hard-pressed to find a friendly conversation.<p>

That suited Victoria fine. She'd always been a down to earth kind of gal, despite the fact that she was one of the richest women in the NCR.

Heck was older than she was, and when they'd first married, it was ideal. While he forged his brahmin empire, she raised Ted alone in a sprawling old house. She'd always been faithful, always felt under-appreciated and unloved. Occasionally, she and Heck would mess around in the dark of their marital bed, but Victoria continually found herself unsatisfied. But he'd been her first and only.

She knew she looked very good, much better than many of the other forty-seven year olds that she knew. It was true; a young man had been staring at her across the room as he toyed with a cocktail in disinterest.

He was quite a sight in his expensive suit. She'd heard a phrase a while back about men like him; he was a tall glass of water. Long legs led up to a lean torso that was connected to long arms and large hands. He had a unique, contradictory face with a strong jaw line, high cheekbones, and a button nose. But there was something dangerous in his eyes. Victoria immediately wondered if he was some kind of thug.

Her masked waitress came by with more Sarsaparilla and she took the moment to ask who the young man was.

"That's Mr. Fox," she replied, "he's a businessman and he frequents the strip."

"Is he dangerous?" Victoria asked.

"Not unless you're worried about getting pregnant," the woman chuckled, "he's become the local playboy. He's had his fingers in many a pie. And, word has it that he's got a huge schlong."

Him? Staring at her? He couldn't be interested. She was old; it had to be her money that caught his interest. But that was okay because he was probably just another kid who used his looks and renowned size to seduce unwitting women. 'Brutalized by some kid a large, blunt object' was what her sister would have said.

Victoria nearly choked on her drink as he tossed back the last of his cocktail and began to approach her. He looked like sin itself. Those weren't the eyes of a thug; they were the eyes of a predator.

There was a strong part of her that wanted him to catch her. If he pounced, Victoria Gunderson wouldn't put up much of a fight.

* * *

><p>A part of his mind told himself that he had a problem, that he wasn't sure if he really wanted to live his life this way. But he didn't want to think about it, so he'd spent the morning staring into his drink as he tried to forget the countless faces and names of women he'd used and thrown away.<p>

And as Vulpes glanced across the room at the middle-aged woman in the corner, he knew he'd be adding one more to that list.

It didn't matter that her golden hair was fading to gray or that her face was marked with wrinkles from a well-lived life. And it certainly didn't matter that she wore a wedding ring large enough to see from across the room. In fact, the ring made her all the more interesting; it posed a challenge to him and he would meet it with all defiance.

She had rather nice legs, actually, and they'd look good wrapped around his hips. She was a beautiful, middle-aged woman and he had to have her.

He looked down at the drink on the table that let him blend in with the crowd. Like his suit and the stupid western tie, it was an accessory and part of his allotted disguise. Caesar had no problem with his agents drinking where appropriate; it'd be foolish not to. A man who didn't drink at all in Vegas would stick out. Sometimes it wasn't what one did that outed them as a spy; it was what one didn't do.

Vulpes downed his drink and approached the woman.

She was alone, yet obviously rich and married. He hadn't seen her before; she must be on vacation. Was she a bored, unsatisfied housewife? Many women like her felt that they could keep younger men on a leash and he wasn't sure if he'd be willing to be subservient just to get a lay. Vulpes Inculta did have some standards, after all.

Their eyes met and he instantly knew that she knew what he was doing. He'd have to change his strategy.

"Um, is this seat taken?" Vulpes asked, feigning nervousness.

She shrugged, figuring him to be harmless, and motioned to let him sit. Clumsily, he bumped the table with his legs and dragged the tablecloth a little bit as he awkwardly sat. The action took a little less effort then he'd cared to admit.

"I'm uh," he smiled, "my name's Fox."

"Victoria," she replied, offering her hand for him to shake. "Now, what's a young man like you doing talking to an older, married woman like me?"

Straight to the point. This one was smart.

"I," Vulpes began, "I saw you by yourself so-"

"I'm married to Heck Gunderson," she sighed, "Are you trying to create a scandal or something?"

Shit. He did not know that, but he still had to have her. He bit his lip and looked off to the side, acting as if that information had made him nervous.

"How old are you?" Victoria asked.

She leaned in, crossing her legs in his direction. This posture indicated openness, but her crossed arms belied the fact that she was still quite cautious.

"Twenty four," he replied, adding a shy smile.

Her left hand moved up to support her chin as her right hand drummed on the table. She was thinking.

"I have a son your age," Victoria murmured, "and I wonder if he does the same thing you're doing."

Ted Gunderson? No, he wasn't a thing like that simpering little shit.

"So, what kind of business are you in?" she asked.

"Merc," he replied, "we provide the muscle for some anonymous organizations."

Vulpes' story was a set of cleverly fabricated half-truths. He'd learned early on that a cover story was always best when one supplemented it with similarities from one's own life.

"Did you inherit your money then?" Victoria asked.

So many people wanted to know the answer to that question. It was his assumption that they wished to categorize him as a spoiled, unlearned brat. He was no such thing; he'd clawed his way from the bottom up, just like any other officer.

"I was adopted," he replied, "so in a way, I guess so. I was given charge over business relations."

"And how do I relate to your business, Fox?" she smiled.

This woman was grilling him; she didn't even offer a chance for him to ask questions of her. He supposed that was fine. After all, he was a potential sexual partner.

"You uh," he replied, "you don't."

Victoria nodded slowly, a smirk breaking out on her face.

"What would your father say about what you're trying to do?" she murmured.

Caesar? If he'd been drinking at the time he heard about this seduction attempt, he'd spit it out and choke in between bouts of laughter. Caesar would find this very amusing.

"Dunno," Vulpes replied.

Her eyes flickered over his form in a quick appraisal and he knew he had her.


	12. Chapter 12

A/n: I really mean what I said in my past two author's notes. Unlike all of my other fics, this one has been planned down to the chapter; there's an outline and everything. Each section is purposefully done with a character or situation in mind that will act as a catalyst for future events. I do promise that there will eventually be dirty, naughty sex like there is in my other fics. This fic is going to have a very large amount of chapters; it's my longest undertaking to date. Please be patient :)

Also, I'm like peeing my pants to get moving along as well; that's why I've updated again so recently. I really want to get to some of the more surprising/twisty chapters and I figured that this one was itty bitty enough to post so soon after updating :D

ALSO! The second section of this chapter contains descriptions of gay sex. It's not explicit, but more of a rated R kind of sex. But it's there.

* * *

><p>The Mojave was beautiful this time of day, and Cass took the time to take it in as she walked behind Six on their way back to Novac. She figured that someone had once taken the time to write some poetic shit about the sunset and the way it made the desert look. She'd just say that it was pretty; Cass wasn't one for flowery nonsense.<p>

Out of her little group, her feet were the only set that made noise as they picked their way across a set of foothills. Cass hadn't had to draw her weapon once; Boone and Six both had the incredible ability to detect and kill any possible threat.

She glanced behind her as Boone withdrew his bottle of scotch and took another gulp. Christ, the man drank even more than she did and he didn't appear so much as buzzed. And even though was something wrong with him, it wasn't any of her damned business. If it was that much of an issue, Cass could guarantee that Six would stick her nose into it. Hell, the Courier had done as much with her. Then again, Cass had been waiting for an excuse to get out of the Mojave outpost. If it meant traveling with a twitchy, alcoholic sniper and a dipshit of a voluptuous Courier, then she'd do it. Besides, Cass could always leave if things didn't go well.

Novac's stupid-ass dinosaur drew closer and closer as the mismatched trio approached the town. Cass hadn't been to Novac in a while; after all, it made for a boring stop without a bar. A man came out of the old hotel's gated area, a smile on his mustached face.

"Hey, Chris," Six smiled. She jogged up to him and gave him a hug.

Had the Courier been fucking this guy? She seemed awfully excited to see him. Then again, it was entirely likely that she was excited to see everyone she knew. Six was like a big, dumb dog, all smiles and tail wagging.

"I won't be needing my room here," Six said, "So I can let you have the key to it so you'll have your own place. I'm going to Vegas."

Chris smiled and put his arm around her, leading her away.

"I've got somewhere to live," he murmured, "you keep your room; when you visit, it'll be waiting for you."

He motioned toward the dinosaur, a grin breaking out on his face.

"Manny's letting you stay?" Six asked, "He's a good friend."

"Yeah," Chris chuckled, "we've become very good friends. He's one of the first people I've met who have actually understood me."

His answer flew right over the Courier's head as she agreed that Manny was such a good friend and she was happy that Chris had made friends. Cass knew that she had brain damage from being shot in the head, but this amount of denseness was amusing, albeit, slightly troubling.

A ranger stepped out of one of the small buildings to the right and Cass wondered when she'd see enough of these NCR fucks. She put her guard up as the man put his arm around the Courier's shoulders and looked down at her tits. Men were such goddamned pigs sometimes. Yes, Six had a nice rack. She had a nice ass too. But she was way too nice about letting men get away with leering at her.

Cass had a personal policy about men; they could look and touch when she fucking gave them permission, and not the other way around. She looked back up at the Courier, wondering what she'd do next.

"Andy," Six murmured, "I've got some bad news about Charlie. They were overrun by the Legion."

She hugged the shocked ranger while he said something about having just talked to them a few days ago.

Cass frowned, wondering if Six knew that she was essentially shoving her tits on every man she came across. It was as if the Courier had no sense of the sexual signals she was sending out.

Christ, now she'd have to stay. She couldn't let the kid get herself knocked up by some sleaze.

* * *

><p>Their hands were entwined. Muscular legs hooked over a set of shoulders as they panted in between passionate kisses. They kept their eyes open as they made love, staring into each other's souls.<p>

There was always the terror of being caught in such a position. Sometimes the thought was thrilling and added to the excitement. Other times, they found themselves unable to proceed, despite the willingness to do so.

Crassius rarely set his mohawk anymore because he knew it'd get pounded out of shape as he lay on his back for Marcus. Besides, the damned thing caught on doorways, tent flaps and the like. He had half the mind to shave it off and wear his hair short, but Marcus insisted he keep it. 'Something to hold on to' he said.

Marcus stilled above him, stifling a loud groan. Maybe the day would come when they could sneak off and be as loud as they liked.

"Took you long enough," Crassius chuckled, "I was about to find a magazine." He rolled his hips, reveling in the way his partner hissed at the excessive stimulation.

He always teased Marcus with words and little touches, and by the time they had their break, his partner was absolutely ravenous for him. Making Marcus become deeply aroused in the heat of the desert for hours was excellent payback for his lewd comments about Vulpes Inculta.

It was such a silly crush. He suspected that Vulpes wasn't into men, and if he were, he sure as hell wouldn't let Marcus on top of him. Men like Vulpes were on top, all the time, without exception. It was always the smaller ones who demanded dominance. Vulpes wasn't any exception; he was so alpha that he probably didn't even let his women on top. Personally, Crassius didn't get it. Vulpes was way too pale and way too thin. He wanted to feed him some brahmin steak and stick him outside, naked, in the Mojave sun.

"You seem pleased with yourself," Marcus murmured, "Care to let me in on your little joke?"

"I'm thinking of feeding Vulpes a pile of brahmin steak while forcing him to get some sun on his pale ass," Crassius chuckled.

"And now I'm thinking of feeding him a pile of my steak while forcing him on his pale ass," Marcus grinned, "Your participation in this scenario would be most wonderful, should it come to fruition."

Mars alive, he shouldn't have said anything.

Marcus reached up and pinched Crassius' nipple, earning a squeak. He always did anything he could to make him make a high-pitched noise. He was a man, dammit, not some squeaky bitch. Crassius sighed and stood to put his clothes back on before he got caught naked in a tent with another man.

It had been a strange day. Acanthus, third in command of the Frumentarii, had come to Caesar, requesting an audience about the affairs of his branch. Caesar usually saw to the concerns of his higher-ranked officers immediately. This day, however, his request was postponed for a later date. Caesar remained in bed for the rest of the day and shut the curtains while everyone outside his room wondered what was going on.

"Is Caesar ill?" Marcus murmured as he stopped in the middle of tying his armor back on. At times, they had a mind so unified that it seemed like they shared a single brain.

"He can't be," Crassius replied, "Caesar is the Son of Mars."

"But-"

"No buts," Crassius smiled, "the son of a god cannot be sick. Caesar is no ordinary man."

Since he was a boy, he'd listened to the Sybil's words about Caesar. He believed in the Legion with everything he was. Caesar was the Son of Mars, and he would bring order to the land. To become a personal guard to a living legend was the most prestigious and incredible rank he could have ever attained. Being chosen in and of itself was flattering.

Crassius gave his lover a kiss on the forehead. Sometimes, Marcus reminded him of a dog. He was a man of deep emotions, fretting about things until Crassius was able to give him a loving pat on the head. And he had the most beautiful, deep brown eyes, just like those of a loyal hound.

"What you should worry about is why Acanthus has a problem with your little prince-ling," Crassius sighed, "If this spills over into the arena-"

"Vulpes will win," Marcus huffed.

Crassius had his doubts but he didn't press the matter. There was already enough stress with the looming war and Caesar mysteriously disappearing to his room to be silent for hours on end.

But he hoped that Marcus was right; despite a few minor shortcomings, Vulpes ran his branch fabulously and had many successes to his name. His death would make the Legion weaker. To be fair, he'd never seen Vulpes fight and it much debated whether he could hold his own in combat. The Legate himself was one of Vulpes' strongest detractors, saying that the Fox was a talker, not a fighter.

But it wasn't just the fact that he approved of Vulpes work. Crassius respected him as a man for keeping his word. He wouldn't tell Caesar about his and Marcus' affair unless he absolutely had to. If he ever had the time, he wanted to ask the Frumentarius about his opinions on men like them, though he suspected that he had some idea already. Vulpes was known to be a liberal among the officers.

All things considered, Crassius felt Vulpes was a good man. Still, he couldn't help but feel suspicious about recent events.


	13. Chapter 13

A/n: We're getting there! The gang's almost all present. I know it's kinda fillery, but I'll update in a few days to make up for it :D

* * *

><p>The weight of an engraved, checkered cigarette lighter rested heavily in her palm. It was a piece of Benny, another part of the trail of evidence that he left as he worked his way back to his den at The Tops. This man had no honor; he captured and shot a courier in the head, then ditched the people he was supposed to pay for helping him capture her.<p>

But she'd negotiated to allow the Khans to leave in peace. Six wouldn't do harm to someone who was caught up in the middle of something.

"My orders are to dispose of the Khans, hostages or no," Lt. Monroe said.

"But they released the hostages," Six replied, "they'll go peacefully. Besides, you said that you'd let them go if they agreed to just leave." Her stomach turned sour as she thought of the Khans inside the building. They didn't want any trouble, but they'd stumbled into it, first with her, and now with the NCR.

"I've got my orders," Monroe sighed. He seemed resigned to the idea that he'd have to order his men to gun down the Khans, even after they'd surrendered.

Anger boiled up inside Six. He was backpedaling on her.

"So you're just going to accept that?" she hissed, "They let the hostages go, and you're going to repay that with killing them?"

Boone shifted behind her; he'd been nervous ever since the mention of Great Khans. Six hoped that he wouldn't get cold feet on her just because she was against the NCR's orders on this. Despite his surly behavior, he was special to her.

"Look," Monroe murmured, "I don't want it to be this way. Ever since that fuck up at Bitter Springs, relations have been very tense with the Khans. This will only add fuel to the fire."

She wasn't sure what he was talking about, but it seemed like a big deal.

"Then don't let it be this way," Six frowned, "You've got the power to make it different."

"I've got orders," he repeated, throwing his arms up in exasperation.

"So?" she replied, "Is it worth the price of doing the right thing? If you've got any integrity, you'll let the Great Khans go."

His face fell as he began to nod.

"You're right," Monroe sighed, "the Khans are free to go."

Six knew that the right decision had been made, though it was troubling that the NCR would order such a thing. If she could forgive those Khans for helping shoot her, then she figured that others ought to have done the same.

Regardless, she had another piece of the puzzle; Six would find Benny and perhaps find herself in the process.

* * *

><p>The Legion didn't have royalty or nobles, but at times, they came close. Lanius was the most powerful and cunning general, a myth among men. The entirety of the Legion looked up to him in awe.<p>

But if anyone had asked Lucius about royalty among the Legion, he would have undoubtedly called Vulpes Inculta a prince. Caesar doted upon him like a father to the point that it made some of the other officers resent the young Frumentarius.

Vulpes was the type that was assassinated out of jealousy. That thought alone made Lucius watch out for him. Personally, he liked Vulpes; he was the ambitious type that would do anything for the Legion. He had his suspicions that Acanthus was requesting an audience with Caesar in regards to Vulpes. Such things were troubling; in fighting often caused factions to form. The Legion had to remain unified in the face of the Bear's adversity.

Lucius watched as Caesar thumbed through a battered, old book and massaged his head. He was one of the few that knew that the cult of Mars was nothing more than a cleverly crafted fabrication. Even among some of the highest ranked guards, there was the belief that Caesar was the Son of Mars and that he was a living god. Such things were necessary to ensure total obedience.

"Is my Lord feeling better?" Lucius asked, leaning forward to study the older man's reaction.

Caesar sighed, shut the book, and placed it to the side.

"For the moment, yes," he replied, "however, there is an immense pressure around my forehead that never leaves."

Lucius nodded once, wishing that he could protect Caesar from this as well. It was frustrating, knowing that he could do nothing to thwart these attacks.

"Acanthus requested an audience a day ago," Lucius murmured, "He didn't say his exact concern, but he wished to speak with you over some matters in the Frumentarii."

Caesar's head tilted to the side as if he was attempting to recall the previous day. It was disconcerting to know that his health had slipped so much, especially for a man of fifty-six years. Caesar was only eight years older than he was.

"I will speak with Acanthus now," Caesar sighed.

Lucius nodded and opened the tent flap, trying not to notice the way his Lord cringed at the light. Caesar needed a real doctor, with real answers, and he hoped desperately that the fates would send one to him.

"Tell Acanthus that Lord Caesar will see him now," Lucius announced.

In the pit of his stomach, he knew that this meeting would be unpleasant.

* * *

><p>A stony-faced Caesar listened with displeasure at the news Acanthus brought.<p>

"His inability to control his libido is going to expose our entire operation," the Frumentarius hissed, "his dallying with Martina Grosebeck could have exposed Picus. And, having an affair with Victoria Gunderson is completely out of line. We don't need an angry brahmin baron on us because our fearless leader couldn't keep his dick in his pants."

Caesar shook his head and sighed. He knew that Vulpes had a strong sexual appetite, but he had no idea it'd gotten this out of hand. Acanthus was right; Vulpes needed to behave himself. But what was he to do?

"What does Alerio say?" Caesar asked.

Acanthus shook his head and ran his hand over his tightly shaved hair. He lowered his head as he recounted his conversation with his immediate superior.

"Alerio said to leave it be, that the Fox would cover his tracks," he murmured, "but I cannot. People are whispering on the strip about Victoria Gunderson and Fox. They say that he approached her, seduced her in plain sight, and lay with her for hours in the bed she shared with her husband."

Caesar nodded once then paused in mid-nod.

"Hours?" he asked.

Acanthus' face fell as chuckles rose from every corner of the tent. It seemed that Vulpes was a man of many talents.

"Then if you believe it to be that much of an issue," Caesar declared, "challenge him. You can settle it in the arena when Vulpes returns."

All noise in the tent ceased. Would Acanthus really challenge Vulpes to a duel in the arena? A strong part of Caesar hoped not; he didn't want to risk Vulpes.

"I shall," Acanthus said, "The Son of Mars is wise and deserves the best."

Caesar feigned indifference and dismissed the challenger. As soon as the Frumentarius left, he motioned for Lucius to follow him to the back of the tent. Sitting down, Caesar put his head in his hands.

"I feel old today, my friend, much beyond my years," he sighed.

Lucius shot him a questioning look.

"I covered my best friend in pitch, lit him on fire, and threw him in the Grand Canyon," he mused, "and now I lack the stones to punish Vulpes in the manner I've punished others before him."

His guard shook his head, unable to meet his gaze. For the past few years, Lucius had been his sounding board, his silent and trusted friend.

Caesar tried to deny that Vulpes had become special to him, wanted desperately to deny that Vulpes was the son he'd never had.

"I don't want it to be like this," he murmured, "but such is the weight of responsibility."

"Vulpes is a grown man, in charge of a vast network of spies," Lucius shrugged, "he made the rank of decanus at the age of sixteen and survived a flogging at the age of eighteen. It would do well for any possible detractors to be reminded that he isn't some sort of weak fool."

Caesar nodded at his guard's words. Lucius didn't speak much, but when he did, he spoke plainly and honestly. It was some small comfort, though Caesar still didn't want Vulpes to step into the arena.

Where one questioned, others were sure to follow.

* * *

><p>"It all makes sense now," Cass slurred. She leaned heavily against Boone as they trudged their way across the gravely remains of I-93.<p>

"What does?" Six asked, her feet crossing over each other as she attempted to walk in a straight line.

"The..." Cass began, and then burped.

Six tumbled into Boone and he grunted at the impact. He had had a hell of a lot more to drink than they had, but he found himself capable of walking without aid. Still, the Courier finally understood exactly why Boone loved his brown drinks so much.

"The what?" Six asked, stopping in her tracks to stare Cass directly in the eyes.

Cass walked up to Six and pressed her forehead against hers, returning her stare.

"You're so unconventional," Cass slurred, her eyes wide, "Vegas needs someone like you."

The pair shared a conspiratorial giggle as they stumbled their way back to Boone and linked arms with him. Ever silent, he led them toward the 188 trading post.

They were close; smoke from a campfire rose in the air as a wilted NCR flag stood out in sharp contrast to the fading Mojave sun. From the direction of Vegas, a trader drew near, his pack brahmin loaded down with goods. His hired guns watched the road carefully for signs of danger. They eyed the stumbling trio for a second then turned away, identifying them as non threatening.

Six's stomach growled at the smell of meat roasting over the campfire, and as they crested the hill, she had it in her mind that she'd buy tonight's dinner for everyone.

Boone stopped moving and Six assumed that this was the 188 trading post. She glanced around, noticing the makeshift bar set up in the broken remains of a trailer. Boone and Cass must have spotted it at the same time she did; her support left her, throwing her balance off and causing her to flail her arms in an attempt to right herself.

A giggle drew Six out of her stupor. She was being watched.

She turned to see a brown-eyed girl peering out from a brown hood in her direction.

"No offense," the girl said, "but you look like you've traveled a long way down some bad roads. Mind telling me where you come from?"

The girl moved in to steady her, guiding her to a nearby bench.

"The grave," Six chuckled.

"Huh," the girl replied, "Well in that case I take it back. You look pretty good, given the circumstances." She made a pointed effort not to look the Courier over but only half succeeded. "My name's Veronica. I live in a hole in the ground."

Six stared at her dumbly. This Veronica person lived in a hole in the ground?

"Well, a bunker, if you want to get technical," she said, "but I think my way sounds more interesting. I'm usually out here, looking for food, technology, or supplies for my family."

"S'cool that you've got a family," Six replied, "Dunno if I've got one."

Veronica frowned for a second then glanced over at Cass and Boone.

"Listen," she sighed, "Can I ask you something on the level?"

"Go ahead," Six murmured. Veronica looked like something was bothering her.

"I had a run-in with a group called the Brotherhood of Steel," she said, "Pretty strange bunch. Know anything about them?"

Six shrugged and shook her head 'no'. Hell, she hadn't known about the Legion or the NCR or anything when she woke up.

"Oh, that's okay then," Veronica smiled, "apparently they keep to themselves a lot anyway. So, where are you headed?"

Six swayed in her seat and Veronica caught her by the arm.

"The Strip," she slurred.

"Ooo," Veronica smiled, "Gonna strike it rich, huh? You wouldn't mind taking me along, would you? I want to explore and see what the world has to offer."

"Sure," Six replied, "that's Cass and Boone over there. Just met them too. You seem alright." She gestured over to her plastered companions who sat at the bar.

"One more thing," Veronica murmured, "I asked you about the Brotherhood because I'm one of them. I wanted to know how you'd react; we've made a lot of enemies out here. Still interested in bringing me along?"

"Sure," Six shrugged. She didn't care about this Veronica's affiliations; she could tell that she was a good person.

She stood slowly and brought Veronica over to meet Cass and Boone.

The group sat, chattering amongst themselves, and Six felt like she truly belonged. She wasn't just some nameless Courier, clumsily slogging her way through social interactions.

She had friends, despite her awkwardness. And soon, she hoped she'd have a real name to go with her real friends.


	14. Chapter 14

A/n:We're getting there! Almost! BE EXCITED!

* * *

><p>Julie Farkas frowned as she heard Mr. Fox's story. His father's prognosis sounded grim and she wasn't sure if it would even be curable. There was no way that this wasn't a tumor.<p>

Fox was an interesting, charming man and she could immediately tell why his father picked him for contract negotiation in regards to their business. Then again, he was known as one of New Vegas' heartthrobs, and she knew that it was highly possible that he was playing her. But she couldn't be mad at the scoundrel; he was genuinely concerned about his father's health.

Hearing about this brother, though, worried her.

"Do you think your brother could head the business?" she asked, scouring her shelves for any books that would help Fox understand his father's condition.

"I don't doubt in the least that he'd be an excellent leader," Fox replied, "but I don't think he'd have any use for me or my division. He prefers more direct methods. He'd force a square peg into a round hole if he had to, rather than taking the time to find the square hole."

"You don't think he's jealous of you," she murmured, "Do you?"

Fox blinked and crossed his arms, his face drawing into a frown. Julie let him think for a while as she put a book on the table next to the shelf.

"I don't see why he would be," he sighed, "he's the direct heir to my father's fortune. Truth be told, I inherit nothing."

Her eyes grew wide. What kind of messed up family was this?

"Nothing?" she echoed, "You pour so much work into this business, and you get nothing?"

"I'm fine with it the way it is," Fox shrugged, "I'd rather head my division and do what I do best rather than attempt to head the whole thing and fail miserably. I'd make an awful president."

It was sweet. The whole thing was tragically sweet.

Julie motioned Fox over to the books she had found and opened them for him to the appropriate spots. As she explained where he'd find the information, he leaned in to get a better look at the book. The doctor almost jumped when she felt his arm wrap around her.

"This job sounds like it's thankless at times for you," he murmured, "I want you to know that I really appreciate the effort you're going through."

It was true; being a Followers doctor was thankless at times. Being thanked for something so simple was almost shocking. Fox leaned in even closer, his side flush against hers. Julie felt every weapon that lay packed against his side; there were at least two knives and one pistol. And there wasn't an ounce of fat on the man, either. God knew what else he kept packed on him; Fox was right handed and there were three weapons on his off-handed side.

They were all alone, he was too close, and he smelled and looked way too good in his leather armor. He was intimidating, dangerous and was being overtly physical with her. Did all the other women he had had feel like this, before he ruined them?

"May I borrow them?" Fox purred, his hand splaying across her lower back.

"Sure," Julie mumbled. Her heart wouldn't stop racing. She was terrified and turned on, all at the same time.

He smiled a beautiful, slippery smile and thanked her before backing up.

"Let me know if you have any questions," she said. Julie hoped that she looked somewhat composed.

Fox simply nodded and took his leave. The door closed behind him, leaving the doctor to collect herself.

She hissed a curse when she replayed what had just happened in her mind. Arcade was going to kill her for letting those books out of her sight.

* * *

><p>"What are they doing?" Six asked, transfixed on the brahmin before her.<p>

One was on top of the other, grunting. And there was some sort of strange limb connecting the two. Was it gross? Six had no idea, but she felt as if she shouldn't be watching what was happening.

"And what the hell is that thing?" she asked, pointing at the strange, undulating limb.

And as Cass' legs gave out from laughing, Boone froze in his tracks and began to repeat the word 'no' while staring in the opposite direction. Six turned to Veronica, only to see the Scribe's face bright red with barely contained laughter.

"You really don't know?" Veronica asked, her shoulders shaking.

Six squeaked out a 'no' and felt her face heat up in shame. Forgetting everything was so frustrating; she wanted to cry. She could shoot a gun like no other, sneak up on almost anything, and there was no lock she couldn't pick. She could always tell if someone was being sincere or if they were hiding something, always knew who was really a good person and who was bad. But beyond reflex, she couldn't remember a damned thing.

Six felt her chin begin to quiver but she was determined not to cry. The heat would be even more insufferable with the added tears and sniffles. Did her friends know they were being mean?

"Come on," Veronica smiled, "We can take you to the Followers. They'll be able to explain it to you."

She felt better as the scribe linked arms with her and she turned around to stick her tongue out at Cass.

"Yeah, fuck you too," she laughed, "I'll have you know that I laughed so hard that I have to piss now."

They were interrupted by the squeak of Freeside's gates being opened. A merc stepped out into the Mojave sunlight, his bag noticeably heavy from the telltale square shape of books. The tall, thin man almost appeared in monochrome; the color of his skin was so pale, a sharp contrast to the dark brown of his leather armor and black hair. A black .45 rested on his right hip, a glistening machete on his left. His black boots barely made a sound as he picked his way across the destroyed road.

Six tilted her head to the side as he glanced in her direction; she was sure she'd seen him somewhere before. It wasn't his distinctive blue eyes that looked familiar, but rather, it was the strong lines of his jaw combined with a contradictory button nose.

He afforded a sparing glance in her direction, his eyes stopping briefly at her breasts then her hips. There was a hint of something urgent in his gaze, as he half-heartedly looked the Courier over.

For a moment, his fingers rubbed a small, golden pendant that hung around his neck, his gaze clouding over as he looked at the horizon. He shook his head, his attention snapped back to the road, and he let go of the pendant. His quick, silent steps soon led him out of view.

"Now that was a beautiful man," Cass murmured.

Six nodded, though she'd been too caught up in trying to remember him to assess whether he was attractive or not. Regardless, she'd agree. Six was determined not to make herself look dumber than she'd already appeared to her friends.

* * *

><p>Arcade Gannon sat at a table, thumbing through and old book on local flora, a frown etching itself into his features. It was a typical day at the office, spinning his wheels, getting nowhere, engaging in copious amounts of self-flagellation all the while.<p>

The sound of footsteps brought him out of his musings and he barely afforded the intruder a glance as he continued to look through the book.

"Hi," he sighed, "If you're looking for a doctor, you might want to try someone else. I'm just a researcher. Not a particularly good one at that."

"But you sound bored," the intruder giggled, "I can guarantee that we'll make your day absolutely interesting."

Arcade chuckled and looked up at her, freezing when he saw Brotherhood Scribe's robes. Quickly, he schooled himself into an awkward air of indifference. Besides, this scribe had to feel incredibly awkward and cautious, being outside and all.

"So, what is it, then?" he asked, watching as a redhead cowboy, a busty brunette and a blonde sniper stepped into the tent. Arcade figured it had to be the punch line of some awful joke.

"I'm Veronica," the scribe smiled, "and this is Cass, Boone, and Six. Six here is a courier and she was shot in the head. Unfortunately, she can't remember a thing about anything. This has been well and good, until we saw some brahmin mating on the side of the highway."

Oh. So that was the punch line.

"I know," Veronica sighed, "I know. But she's a pretty girl and she needs to know before something bad happens to her."

Arcade glanced over at the others and massaged his temples. It had to be the brunette; she had a very clueless, sad look on her face.

"Okay. Let me get some books," he said, suppressing a cringe.

Well, it could have been worse; some of his books could have been loaned indefinitely to a suspicious character.


	15. Chapter 15

A/n: We're getting there! So close. I couldn't just teleport everyone to the Strip and go "Oh btw everyone was there". It wouldn't have made sense for what I want to do with this fic :)

I know this one's small, but there will be a mega update in a few days :D

* * *

><p>Arcade Gannon shook his head, wondering how he'd come to be in such an awkward position. He was supposed to be utterly immune to feminine wiles, after all. Still, there had been something in Six's strange, wild-looking eyes that promised that traveling with her and her mismatched gang would be an adventure. The way in which she looked at the world, full of such incredible, child-like curiosity, made him feel extremely protective of her. After all, she had no mental concept of sex.<p>

She'd asked him if they just stuck it in there and wiggled it around and he'd nearly choked on his coffee. Arcade then gave her a book entitled, "Lovemaking: A Book of Human Sexuality" and sternly told her that she should read it when she had some alone time later. He'd also told her that the book had suggestions only, and that it wasn't a definitive answer to how she should conduct her sex life.

He later found himself watching as Six slowly shed some of her innocence while she watched the Kings charge a long line of people for water. She murmured to herself that drinking water was a basic human right – to which he agreed – and that she had to speak to whoever was in charge of this.

And that was how Arcade Gannon found himself staring through a ring of cigarette smoke at a suave man in a cream colored suit.

"So, let me get this straight," the King smiled, "you walk into my headquarters and want to tell me how to run my town."

"No," Six replied, "but the NCR will give their water for free, so long as people become an NCR citizen."

Arcade cringed. Since when had this innocent girl learned to be so cutthroat? It was like a switch had been flipped.

The King tilted his head back and sighed, mumbling under his breath about good-for nothing, money grubbing NCR troops.

"Let me ask you something," the King sighed, "What does it bother you?"

"Because the ability to drink water is a basic right, not a privilege," she replied, "because those are real, human beings with wants and needs and they're already worried about starving and they have to choose between going hungry or going thirsty."

There was something in the plain, blunt way that Six spoke that made Arcade begin to do something as audacious as hope for a better New Vegas and a better Freeside. He felt that perhaps, he was getting into something that could potentially change everything he'd come to know. Six was an upstart crow, uncultured and determined to make everyone see things her way.

This was the kind of leader Vegas needed; Arcade was sure of it.

* * *

><p>Vulpes picked his way through the dust and rubble, the Fort already in view. The edges of a thick medical text pressed into his spine, reminding him continually of an ill Caesar. He'd scour those pages to find a cure. Vulpes wouldn't sleep until he knew that his Lord was safe and that everything would stay the same and be normal.<p>

A guard walked up to him, his hand on his machete. Sighing, Vulpes showed him his identification pendant, which signified that he was an agent.

"Ave," the guard saluted, "I was expecting you in a suit. My apologies."

Yes, because it'd do wonders to walk around the Mojave in a wool suit in July like an asshole.

"I change," Vulpes murmured. Were people really this stupid?

He paid the guard no mind as he entered the Fort, the metal doors squealing on their rusty pulley system. A row of empty crosses greeted him along with the smell of stale death; it was a grim reminder of the severe penalty of being untrue to Caesar. Seeing them every time he entered the Fort filled Vulpes with a strange sense of reverence. He narrowly escaped death on a cross and would be thankful every time he saw one. In a similar vein, he'd never execute lightly.

The path to the right led him toward the inner area of the Fort. As he walked, he passed by a slave, her heavy burden nearly making her collapse. It was a sight he'd known for years since the conquest of his tribe. Their eyes met for a brief second before she turned away. Whenever he wore the clothes of an outsider, they always gawked, not knowing who he was. He wished they wouldn't. The hollow eyes were disturbing; they reminded him of himself from summers in the distant past.

Vulpes continued onward, training his eyes on his destination. The mood in the camp was unusually somber. And as whispers of a duel between officers in the arena rose around him, Vulpes wondered why things always seemed to fall apart in his absence.

The guards at the gate exchanged worried glances before saluting him. Shaking his head, he crossed the threshold into the more privileged area of the Fort.

It was quiet.

Vulpes masked his unease and tossed his bag into his tent. He walked up to Caesar's tent as if nothing had changed, even as various officers gave him strange looks. There was something wrong, and that something had to do with him.

His suspicions were confirmed when he entered Caesar's tent. Acanthus had no reason to be there.

* * *

><p>Caesar looked up when Vulpes entered. Though he favored his Frumentarius, the charges against him were incredibly serious. Even if nobody found out who he was, Vulpes was in danger of severely tarnishing the reputation of his cover. Caesar steeled himself, knowing that he'd have to let this happen.<p>

"Vulpes," he said, "It's nice of you to join us."

Vulpes smiled and lowered his gaze, offering a bow. His foot snagged a dip in the floor, causing him to lurch forward and Caesar had to wonder if his occasional clumsiness was intentionally manipulative.

"What does my lord require?" Vulpes asked. His voice was as smooth as glass and his sad, almost sweet-looking eyes peered at him from beneath a furrowed brow and long, dark eyelashes. The man could be as coy as a schoolgirl at times.

Caesar motioned toward Acanthus, permitting him to speak.

"Everyone has known about your dalliances for a long time," Acanthus said, "and truthfully, nobody has really cared. But laying with one of our informants? A brahmin baron's wife?"

"Do you find fault with laying with the women of the Legion?" Acanthus hissed, "You're every bit as corrupt and immoral as the dissolute. It's a wonder you're not crawling with diseases. You've been a danger to our entire operation on the Strip; if it were anyone but yourself doing such things, you'd have them punished. This is the epitome of hypocrisy."

Caesar would have Acanthus punished for saying such things, but it was the truth, stark and raw before his very eyes. Perhaps part of this was his fault; after all, he'd laughed and almost encouraged Vulpes to lay around. And though Caesar fully believed that Vulpes was satisfying a biological imperative, the amount in which he did was gluttonous at best, whorish at worst.

For a moment, Vulpes stared at Acanthus, blinking, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. It was as if he was waiting for the other man to start laughing and backpedaling on what he'd said.

"These are the charges against you," Caesar declared, "This will be settled in the arena in two day's time. I have no use for infighting."

It was then that Vulpes' expression soured, his jaw clenching and his eyes narrowing to wrathful slits. His fists were clenched by his side, and Caesar briefly wondered if a fight would break out.

"Fine," Vulpes hissed, "if you wish to escalate this then I will welcome separating your head from your neck. This is absolutely petulant."

His final sentence was punctuated with a sweeping gesture and Caesar leaned forward in interest. Vulpes was using his command persona, a very rare sight for the Son of Mars to behold. He usually saw the charmer, the man who smiled and bowed and always remembered his manners. Caesar had to admit that this was fascinating. He'd known Vulpes for a while, and this facet of his personality was rare, at least in his presence. Perhaps if Vulpes showed his dominant side more, he'd have more respect from his peers.

Caesar was very aware of his Legion's mixed opinions on the Frumentarii and its leader. He sincerely hoped that this duel would put to rest any detracting statements about Vulpes. Duels were very public, after all, and he'd rest better if he knew that his Legion was more unified.


	16. Chapter 16

A/n: Hugeass chapter here... in fact, all of the chapters are increasing in size. Regardless, I had lots of fun with this one. Enjoy :)

* * *

><p>Six felt like she and her friends were a line of cattle being led to the slaughter as she walked up to the securitrons guarding the Strip. A huge, neon sign loomed ahead, its multi-colored background vaguely reminiscent of playing cards.<p>

She had gotten a passport to the Strip, thanks to the advice of the King. In exchange, Six had promised to help find a brain surgeon for his dog. She wasn't sure where she'd find someone, and Arcade had agreed that it was a tall order. But she was sure that they'd manage. She was bound to come across someone that would know what to do.

Six signaled a halt as a large robot wheeled up to her, its counterparts turning to face the group. It was unnerving.

"Please present your passports or submit to the credit check," the securitron intoned.

The Courier's eyes widened. They all needed the check? She'd only gotten a passport for herself.

"But they're my plus ones," she countered. They generally allowed passport holders to bring either a date or a guard of sorts.

"False," the securitron replied, "I see plus four, which is three more than plus one. Submit to a credit check or –"

Its screen flickered off for a moment before reappearing. Six found herself becoming increasingly anxious. Machines were unreadable.

"Courier number Six and her plus four and animal are permitted," it said, "Move along."

Her eyes grew wide. It was just going to let her in?

"Move along," it insisted, as if reading her mind.

The gates to the Strip swung open and Six stepped foot into an incredible world of lights and music. Well-dressed people milled about, laughing and largely ignoring the wide-eyed newcomers. Occasionally, an NCR trooper stumbled by, drunk out of their mind.

The road here was so smooth, as if it had been preserved intentionally. Even the old buildings appeared in excellent condition; neon signs rose from their sides, marking which building was which. Six found herself partial to the Lucky 38's beautiful facade.

"Hey," Boone's voice called, gently lifting her out of her fascinated gawking.

There was a softness in his face as he looked through her and Six wondered for a moment if he was looking at her or someone else. She snuggled into his side, happy that he'd relaxed somewhat.

"It's something else, isn't it?" he murmured, "I met Carla here. It's kind of bittersweet, but the Strip reminds me of the best times of my life."

Boone swayed on his feet, causing Six to brace herself and hold him up before they tumbled over. She was close enough to see his red-rimmed eyes through the lenses of his sunglasses. How much scotch did he drink?

"Boone," she started.

A cowboy-faced securitron wheeled up to the group, cutting Six off.

"Howdy there!" it greeted, "Welcome to the Strip. Miss Courier, you've got an invitation to speak with Mr. House in the Lucky 38. He's the head honcho of New Vegas and he knows what happened and would like to get to talkin' with ya about what all we can do to fix this situation."

Six's eyes grew wide. Maybe she'd get some answers from Mr. House. The Lucky 38 loomed in front of her, its illuminated steps lighting the way to gigantic red and black doors.

"Now your friends won't be able to join," the securitron continued, "but as a sign of good faith, they'll be allowed to wait at the doorway. Ain't nobody been allowed to walk up the stairs in nearly 200 years."

The Courier shrugged and followed the robot up the stairs, much to her friends' discomfort. But this was Mr. House, and she would get to know about who she was from him. Besides, maybe they could discuss what to do with New Vegas. She had so many awesome ideas, and they started with Freeside.

Ancient doors rolled back on well-maintained tracks to reveal an inner set of doors. Amidst blaring music and flashing lights, Six approached the entrance of the casino. The peeling red paint on the metal handle flaked off in places as she pulled open the squeaking door.

The inside of the casino was of varying shades of crimson and black. Large dust particles floated through the air, their presence disturbed by the hot rush of air that came in with the Courier. Both floor and ceiling were stained in various places.

Six stood transfixed by the silent display around her; it was so lavish, so incredibly opulent and unreal, that she could understand why Mr. House would choose to stay there forever.

"Move along," a securitron ordered, making the Courier jump.

She saw the cowboy robot and approached it. In front of her, a set of doors opened; the room they revealed was so tiny that Six wondered if it truly served a purpose.

"Hop on in and the elevator will take you to the penthouse," the robot drawled.

Six glanced at the room and jumped over the threshold, making the room shake. Behind her, the securitron followed. The room rumbled and the robot introduced himself as "Victor" and explained what an elevator was and told Six that she was in one. And with each passing second, Six wondered why the world would want to bomb itself if they had such amazing things.

The doors opened to reveal an even more incredible room than the casino floor. She'd been stunned into silence, even as a robot named Jane ushered her down a set of white, marble stairs to speak with Mr. House. Pushing a tattered blue curtain to the side, Six was greeted with a large screen that projected a man's face.

"This meeting has been a long time coming, hasn't it?" a voice sounded from the direction of the screen.

The image flickered to a screen that said 'Connection lost' before flickering back to the image of the man. This must be Mr. House.

"You've come a long way, literally and figuratively as well," he continued, "Now that you've reached your destination, I have to ask: What do you make of what you see?"

"Your screen is the biggest screen I've ever seen," Six replied. Seriously, that thing was huge.

There was a pregnant pause on the other side.

"Vegas, my dear," he sighed, "What do you think of Vegas?"

Six broke out into a grin as she sat down on the carpet in front of the screen. Crossing her legs, she looked up at Mr. House.

"I've never seen anything like it," she said, "then again; I've not seen a lot of things. At least, I don't remember seeing them if I've seen them before."

"Of course you haven't," he quipped, "Vegas was always one of a kind. And yet what you see on the Strip is only a fraction of her former glory. Or do you mean the Lucky 38? She's nothing compared to what she used to look like, but she still manages to impress."

Six stared up at Mr. House, waiting for him to continue.

"Now," he said, "the business is this: One of my employees has stolen something of incredible value to me and I want it back. Sound simple enough?"

She nodded.

"How do I get it back?" Six asked.

"My only concern is recovering the platinum chip," House replied, "what you do with Benny is none of my concern. When you recover it, you will be paid four times what was stipulated in your contract. How does that sound?"

She frowned and looked down at the floor. Money didn't have too much of a meaning to her.

"I don't really need money," Six replied, "I've got plenty so any more would be superf... superf-"

What was that word? It hurt, trying to think of it. Still, she pushed herself to try to remember the word. After a moment of struggle, Six gave up. She'd ask Arcade later.

"Getting shot in the head messed me up," she murmured, "Sometimes there's words in there, big words, that want to come out. I think I used to be smart. I'm not so good with words anymore."

There wasn't a reply and Six found herself getting increasingly uncomfortable. She wished that House had a face with expressions; she'd be able to tell what he was thinking then.

"Hm," House replied, "that is a bit of a problem, isn't it?"

Six had the mental image of someone drumming their fingers on a table in thought.

"I'll tell you what," he said, "I'll permit you and your friends to stay in the Presidential suite. Of course, you'll be the only one allowed up here, but I do want us to begin a business relationship. In the meantime, I'll be searching the database for information about you. Does this sound acceptable?"

She stared at the big screen, her eyes wide. This was a very, very good trade.

"Yes," Six smiled, "thank you so much. I'm so happy."

"There should be some dresses in the boudoir, should you ladies want to have a night out on the town," he said, "you should take the time to enjoy what Vegas has to offer. I'd avoid the Tops, though, until you're ready to deal with Benny."

Six wasn't sure what a boudoir was, but it sounded expensive.

"That's so nice of you," She beamed, "I'll let them know that they can come in."

"Don't forget the chip," House called out as the Courier left.

She wouldn't forget the chip. And as Six rode the elevator down, she couldn't wait to tell her friends that everyone's luck had changed for the better.

* * *

><p>Canyon Runner stood to the side of the area, still unable to believe his luck. He'd been dismissed from his duties and was given the chance to watch an important duel between Vulpes Inculta and Acanthus, the usurper. Nobody had been told what the duel had been initiated over, save the whispered rumor that Acanthus had openly accused Vulpes of being a dissolute. He couldn't begin to imagine the Fox's wrath at being called such a dishonorable thing.<p>

He'd never seen one of the Frumentarii fight, but from what he'd heard about Vulpes, it was sure to be an interesting match. It was said that the Fox's form was unparalleled and that he slowly whittled away at his opponent's stamina with speed and agility unimaginable, much like a matador of old times. At least, that was what Canyon Runner had heard from one of Vulpes' former subordinates. Still, a second-hand witness was much more than anyone else could say. He was positive that he'd see some excellent swordsmanship.

The Mojave sun peeked its way over the horizon, shining red and full over the murmuring camp. To his right, an instructor ushered his charges toward the perimeter of the ring, speaking to them in low tones about the importance of the duel and the matters of honor that needed to be settled. He was young, as far as instructors went. Perhaps he'd been wounded against the NCR and was given an honorable discharge and a position to instruct.

A commotion sounded to his left and Canyon Runner felt his heart freeze. Caesar himself strode out of his tent, a stern, reproachful look on his face. It was well known that he favored Vulpes; he was one of the few who were allowed to come and go as he pleased from Caesar's tent. The favor of the Son of Mars was an incredible privilege and it spoke volumes about Vulpes Inculta.

Caesar was flanked by the hawk-eyed Lucius and an incredible beast of a man who had to duck low in order not to catch his reddish mohawk on the tent's frame. They took their places at the ridge above the arena, along with the rest of the praetorian guard.

Along with everyone present, Canyon Runner bowed before the awe-inspiring presence of Caesar. Each guard looked impressive, and he had to wonder if the ballistic fists were even necessary.

Everyone began to murmur as a man approached the arena. It seemed that many assumed the sandy haired young man was Vulpes. After all, he didn't look like a villain. He appeared to be an average looking legionary, with an honest looking face. But Canyon Runner knew differently; he was one of the few members of the Legion ever to positively identify Vulpes Inculta. The blond was Acanthus.

"Why does he wear just shorts?" one of the young recruits asked. "You wear armor to a fight."

The instructor knelt down to speak quietly with his students.

"Arena duels are different," he murmured, "they wear as little as possible so they cannot conceal any weapons. This is a matter of honor; even the best men are not to be trusted in a personal fight."

It was then that the lanky Vulpes stormed in, his countenance the very picture of wrath. Canyon Runner could barely believe that this man was the same as the charming, smiling young man he had seen at Cottonwood Cove. The rumors must have been true; Acanthus had accused him of being dissolute.

Vulpes' skin was very pale, almost ashen in the harsh morning light. Blue eyes peered through narrowed, black lashes at his accuser. And as Vulpes turned around, the crowd began to murmur about the old, white scars that covered the entirety of his back.

He was a thundercloud, various shades of gray and blue, rumbling in quiet rage.

Otho, the arena master, handed blades to the combatants. Even as Caesar announced the duel, their eyes remained on each other.

A bell sounded, and Vulpes wasted no time in crossing the arena. His blade arced downward, Acanthus barely able to muster a block. The blades clashed violently again, and Canyon Runner hissed as he saw Acanthus' arm wobble under the strength of the blow.

The young recruits stared on in wide-eyed wonder as Vulpes continued his fast, frighteningly powerful assault. His animalistic style was not what Canyon Runner had expected, but then again, he wagered that nobody expected such strength and brutality from the slender, long-legged runner.

Acanthus was performing admirably, given the circumstances. From all accounts, it appeared that he was a reasonably skilled fighter; Vulpes was merely in an entirely different class.

The crowd gasped as Acanthus' blade barely missed impaling the Fox's belly; a long, thin line of blood trailed its way down the corded muscles of his stomach and absorbed into the black of his shorts. This only served to further enrage Vulpes.

With a lightning fast response, Vulpes disarmed his opponent. Acanthus' blade tumbled across the ground as the panting Fox held his blade against the throat of his prey. The crowd went silent, waiting for Caesar to determine Acanthus' fate.

Caesar appeared relieved as he stared down at the victor. It was apparent that he was pleased with the fight's outcome. And who wouldn't be? The favor of Mars himself was upon the Fox.

"It appears that the better fighter has won," Caesar announced. A smirk broke out on his face as he glanced over at his largest guard, the one who had to duck just to leave the great tent.

"Crassius of Whiteriver," he called, "What say you? Shall Acanthus be slain?"

The large man's eyes widened as the crowd began to murmur. Canyon Runner watched on intently, wondering what the junior guard would decide. This was obviously a test.

There was a calmness in his eyes that seemed to pacify the Fox's rage as they exchanged a glance. Vulpes visibly relaxed and Canyon Runner found himself reminded of the young man he had seen in Cottonwood Cove.

"We war with the Bear," Crassius rumbled, "and not each other. Fiends and tribals fight amongst themselves, yet the Legion is a civilized people, bringing order to the West. Vulpes Inculta is a servant of Mars, an instrument of his wrath and mercy. Acanthus questions the servant of Mars and therefore questions Mars himself. Acanthus is a profligate; let him be slain."

Vulpes looked expectantly at Caesar, waiting for him to uphold what Crassius of Whiteriver declared. The Son of Mars looked at Vulpes and nodded.

Acanthus' head was severed from his neck in a single, clean swipe of a blade. Cheers rose up from the crowd; though the day had started out ominous, it'd turned into a moment of glory for the Legion.

Vulpes dropped his weapon and turned to exit the arena. Up on the ridge, Caesar murmured something to Crassius and motioned toward one of the other guards. The Son of Mars departed, reentering his tent. It hadn't been for long, but Canyon Runner could say that he'd seen the mighty Caesar with his own eyes.

If he had to fight in his underwear in front of hundreds of people to prove his honor, then so be it.

* * *

><p>Vulpes relished the feeling of the arena's dust between his bare toes, and as the blade left his hand, he exhaled. For a moment, he stared at the body of his former third in command. Though Acanthus had been declared a profligate, a sourness settled into the pit of his stomach. Such things boded ill for his business.<p>

He left the arena, watching as Marcus and Crassius made their way to him. He was sure that they were to tell him that Caesar wished for an audience with him.

To his left, a pair of young recruits stared openly, their eyes wide in awe. Their mortified instructor barked at them to salute their betters and the red-faced boys hastily corrected their behavior. A section of the crowd froze, waiting to see what he'd do next. Vulpes knew that he'd be damned no matter what he did, so he opted to do as he pleased.

He reached down and ruffled their hair while some smiled in approval, others frowning and murmuring that the children ought to have been backhanded. The instructor breathed a sigh of relief.

Vulpes knelt down and studied the boys carefully. They stood perfectly still, knowing that they were being inspected; they were troops already. He could tell that the boys and their armor had been scrubbed down to make an appearance, though the telltale, small lines of dirt under their nails belied the fact that they trained incredibly hard. Their arms and legs had the typical patterns of training; scraped knees, bruised forearms from blocking. Nothing about them appeared out of the ordinary, and it was relieving.

He stood to shake the instructor's hand, a gesture that made the observers murmur. But much could be told from a man's handshake and a stare into his eyes.

Vulpes could tell that the instructor knew he was being sized up, though he knew that the man assumed it was to the potential of his charges.

"I'm rough on the children," he said, "but they're going to be fine legionaries."

It took one look into the instructor's eyes for Vulpes to know that this was no molester.

"I don't doubt it," he smiled, "fearlessness is a virtue. Your job is a thankless one at times."

The instructor laughed and nodded in agreement. Sometimes, it was important to talk to the other members of the Legion, beyond the high-ranked individuals with whom Vulpes normally associated. Though he'd clawed his way up the ranks, he still remembered being one of the lowest of the Legion, and he wasn't about to forget the hard work of those considered lesser than him. Things like this radiated out and caused a boost in morale. Others were bound to watch his actions.

It grew silent again and Vulpes turned around to see Marcus and Crassius approach.

"Since the Legate isn't here to berate you," Marcus called, "I will in his place."

Vulpes lifted an eyebrow. This was sure to be good.

"Caesar would like to see you," Marcus groused, doing his best impression of Lanius, "he wants to ask you when you're going to finally grow some body hair."

Vulpes mock pouted, looking down at his bare chest. In his experience, the women in his age group didn't like an abundance of body hair. Older women, however, liked their men to be more hairy than he could afford.

"I have three hairs around my left nipple," he replied, remembering what he'd told Victoria Gunderson after she'd questioned his lack of chest hair.

"Then I wish I had reading glasses so I could view them," Marcus quipped.

Crassius stood back, chuckling and shaking his head.

"I have hair where it counts," Vulpes pouted.

He gestured to the black line of hair that circled around his navel and trailed downward, immediately wondering if he'd gone a tad too far in his teasing when Marcus' face began to turn red. Vulpes shook the thoughts from his head. He and Marcus joked around occasionally; it'd only get awkward if he made it awkward. Then again, he'd just found out that Marcus was gay.

Wait, so did that mean that Marcus was flirting with him?

An appreciative gaze from the Praetorian told him that his assumption was correct and he sighed. He did not want to further complicate his life. Hell, he got enough flak and leering from the Legate; it was well known that Lanius was a man of multiple and strange tastes. Unfortunately, he was to the Legate's liking.

Vulpes glanced back at Crassius, who appeared mildly displeased. He mouthed a quick 'sorry' to the other man. Crassius narrowed his eyes and Vulpes paled; this was a man who regularly broke ballistic fists from punching a little too hard during training. But as soon as the glare appeared, a smile took its place.

"That wasn't funny," Vulpes hissed.

Crassius simply chuckled and opened the flap to Caesar's tent.

Vulpes sighed and entered, steeling himself for his Lord's inevitable lecture.


	17. Chapter 17

A/n: We're here! Thank you everyone for the hits and reviews :)

* * *

><p>He had to admit that Caesar had been a lot tougher on him than he'd expected, and a part of him wondered if Caesar was simply ordering out of anger and didn't mean what he'd said. After all, directing him to 'find a fucking woman and settle the fuck down' before he 'had him fucking neutered' was a bit extreme, at least in Vulpes' opinion. Then again, Caesar had a hot temper at times.<p>

Vulpes was of the mind that man was meant to procreate as much as possible, and that those who remained monogamous did so when forced. These men had no game; he, however, had plenty of game.

His eyes scanned the crowd at Gomorrah, hoping for a distraction of some sort. He was bored and horny, and wasn't sure which he was more of. Earlier, he'd heard that someone had actually been inside the Lucky 38, but that bit of information was entirely useless if that person never came out again.

He looked up in time to see a trio of women enter. Two were passable, but the one-

The one woman piqued his appetite in the dirtiest ways possible.

She wore a dress, and if he'd been asked what color it was, his reply would have been 'tits'. The woman turned around to reveal a gigantic, perky ass, which he admired as well. It was then that he caught the sight of a glowing pip-boy on her arm.

This was the one he was supposed to watch from Nipton? Hm. Then he'd better get himself acquainted. Of course, his interest was purely professional this time.

Vulpes waited for them to mosey up to the bar, order drinks, and take a seat on a nearby couch, observing them all the while. The Courier's companions ordered her drink for her; it was likely that she didn't remember what drinks she preferred. To her left sat a petite brunette in a dress, her hair cropped short and combed. She appeared to be young and looked pale, as far as wastelanders went. To the right of the Courier was a red haired woman, her manner of dress completely the opposite of her feminine looking counterparts. In places, her hair was free of its braid, the wispy curls floating whenever she moved her head. Between unbuttoned bits of plaid, he spied a pendant of the likes he'd never seen before; it must be a family heirloom. There was a hard set to her face, as if she was ready to fight at any given moment. She'd be the one to watch out for; the woman appeared to be the type that wouldn't take kindly to someone attempting to talk to her group.

He tossed his drink back, the vodka burning its way down his throat. He stood and approached the women, attempting to appear as non-threatening as possible. Martina Grosebeck stood off to the side, watching him and shaking her head. He didn't think there'd be jealousy on her part; she was probably curious.

The Courier immediately saw his approach and smiled, uncrossing her legs. Her openness made this even easier.

"Good evening," he smiled, "it is strange to see a group of normal looking women here, so I had to make my acquaintance."

"Oh? What kind of women do you normally see here?" the redhead drawled.

Ah, yes. He was correct.

"Classless," Vulpes replied, "though the normal ones such as yourselves do come occasionally, treating this place as an oddity of sorts."

"And what about the kind of men that are here?" she asked, a smirk on her face. The redhead took a gigantic swig of her drink.

"The same," he replied, "I'm on business and this is the location of the business, unfortunately."

The Courier looked anxiously between her companions, as if wanting to ask something of them. She then turned her eyes to him.

"Sit with us," she smiled, "I'm Six. This is Cass and Veronica."

Six? What kind of name was that?

"Call me Fox," he replied, "It's nice to meet you."

Now that they were introduced, he could get as much direct information about her as possible to send on to Caesar. She leaned over to shake his hand, her breasts squishing together delightfully. Vulpes had to admit that the view certainly wasn't so bad.

Besides, looking was fine and well within his boundaries. Sex was the only thing that was off limits and he could be quite creative with everything else.

* * *

><p>Mr. Fox appeared incredibly disingenuous, but he didn't intend to harm her. She was inclined to like him, despite the fact that she knew he was lying to her in some capacity. But that was okay; she wasn't being exactly forthright either.<p>

Six and her friends had a night of rest at the Lucky 38 and planned to go out the next evening, Gomorrah being the location of choice. Arcade volunteered to stay behind with Boone, saying that they should have a girl's night out. Six suspected that Arcade didn't like Gomorrah for some reason.

The next morning, as she and Veronica put on and took off multiple dresses, Cass stressed to her that she wasn't to mention getting shot, Benny, or the fact that she didn't remember anything. She was to be with either herself or Veronica at all times, and wasn't supposed to talk to any men without her friends' consent. So they'd left to visit Gomorrah while Arcade tried to placate Boone and tell him that Cass and Veronica would watch out for her.

And thanks to Arcade's book, she had some understanding of what was going on. She knew why men looked at her a certain way, why they stammered and smiled and suggested with their eyes:

They all wanted to make a baby with her.

After their introduction, Fox had moved to sit between her and Cass. Within minutes of him moving, Cass began to lavish attention on the businessman, making him shrug off his jacket and adhering herself to his arm. Cass liked Fox, but Six had to admit that she was getting rather attached to him as well.

She'd learned about his adoptive father, the mercantile business he worked for, what his branch did; all of these were lies. The rest, however, was the truth. Fox liked to read, liked anything electronic, and loved to read pre-war entries from terminals. Six noticed how he eyed her Pip-boy and she offered to let him look at it. There was something endearing in the way that he played with it; his eyes lost some of their sad look for a moment as his head tilted to the side in curiosity. The way he allowed her to snuggle into his side as he looked reminded her of the executioner she'd met in Nipton. Maybe they knew each other?

It was a silly thought, though.

Six was buzzed off of her drinks and she could tell by the pink flush that adorned Fox's cheeks that he was as well. He kept glancing down at her lips, signaling that he wanted to kiss her.

She was feeling rebellious, mischievous, and all manner of defiant. Maybe she'd let him.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, "You know that, right?"

Fox's breath danced across her face, the acrid smell of vodka reminding her that the night was young and poor decisions could yet be made.

"Not sure," she replied, "Remind me."

His lips grazed hers before making full contact. And while Six tried to make sense of the strange sensation of being kissed, she felt Cass detach from Fox's arm and scoot away.

It was warm and moist and awkward and Six was positive that she wasn't doing it right. His tongue slipped inside her mouth, the Courier desperately trying to do everything she'd read about at once. She pulled back when she heard Veronica trying to stifle her giggles.

"I um," Fox murmured, "yeah." He chewed on his lip and stared at the table.

"I don't know how to do that," Six frowned.

Fox nodded and let out a 'mhm'. Cass simply stared at her and shook her head, her face completely red.

"I'm so glad everyone's embarrassed for me," Six sighed, "now I don't have to be embarrassed alone."

She'd just wanted to try to do something normal and it'd backfired horribly. It made her upset, nervous, and more than just a bit afraid to try something new again.

While she worried, Fox put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a soft smile, as if he understood what she was thinking.

"Slow down," he murmured, "It's not about doing something like eating; it's about feeling. Just do what I do."

Fox leaned in, his eyes closing to slits. A pair of lips brushed against hers tentatively then slowly pressed further. After a moment of being paralyzed in fear, Six mimicked his actions. It was much less awkward this time and she felt herself beginning to relax. That was when she began to feel.

She felt the slow, sensuous pull of his lips gently suckling hers. His breath ghosted across her face, sweet and slightly sour from the vodka he'd consumed. The kiss was finished with a quick nip to her bottom lip.

Fox pulled back from her, his sad looking eyes hooded in desire. His lips were stained a darker shade of pink from the kiss, as were his alcohol-flushed cheeks. In that moment, Six decided that she rather liked kissing and wondered if other men kissed the way Fox did. She suspected not.

"Christ," Cass mumbled, "put out the fire or we'll all catch it."

Six watched as he tilted his head back in laughter, her eyes trailing down the length of his pale neck. She figured him to be muscular under his clothes, despite his lean frame. Fox leaned forward, his large, paw-like hands grabbing his drink. His tongue darted out to caress the small straw before his mouth closed around it to take a sip. All the while, Cass regarded him coolly, waiting for a response of sorts.

"Miss Cassidy," he replied, "I am much too selfish for three at once."

Veronica laughed and shook her head. Six laughed along, not quite sure if she got the joke. It was another question she'd have to ask Arcade.

She looked over at Fox and knew that she really, really wanted him to be one of her traveling friends. So she'd invite him to the Lucky 38 to be with everyone.

After all, he couldn't say no, could he?

* * *

><p>It was nighttime in the desert and Lanius knew he ought to be asleep. Still, there was something he enjoyed about the quiet murmur of the camp as the army settled down to sleep.<p>

The day had been wonderfully hot, the sun beating down on his armor and giving him an all-over pocket of cozy heat. He had an almost reptilian love of the sun, scorching himself as bronze as his armor whenever he could.

Lanius watched as the guards changed duties, giving the departing praetorian a nod. The replacement guard entered and the Butcher took the time to admire him from afar.

Choosing some of the most attractive guards for himself was like dangling a brahmin calf in front of a deathclaw, but Lanius knew there was no harm in looking. Let Caesar have the more skilled ones; the Butcher was twice as skilled as his guards in combat and wanted something nice to look at.

It'd taken him time to learn the customs of the Legion, longer still to bury his supposedly unnatural bisexuality. He'd never been quite sure what to make of that; apparently, any seed that wasn't spilled in a woman contributed to the decline of the human race. Though upsetting, this made sense to him.

He supposed himself lucky, that he had a preference toward women over men. Other tribals that had been assimilated had a difficult time adjusting. Those who didn't adjust were crucified.

The Legate leaned back on a mountain of pillows, stretching and popping his back. Soft pelts rubbed against his bare skin as he sprawled out like a great lion. His praetorians stood like statues, much used to his tribal penchant for being as nude as possible.

Voices sounded outside the tent and he sighed. One of the guards poked his head in to announce that a messenger had arrived from the Fort. Lanius glanced down at his nudity and cursed under his breath; he supposed that he ought to put some clothes on.

Reluctantly stumbling into a pair of boxers, the Legate motioned that the messenger could enter. He stood with crossed arms as a man wearing the head of a dog entered. It was the deceiver's cloak.

The vexillarius saluted and began his report, trying not to eye his superior, much to Lanius' amusement. The Legion was a queer's purgatory; there were thousands of beautifully muscled men, yet they were to not act on their desires, lest they be put to death.

"The mighty Caesar sends word that the time has come for you to camp the army on the other side of Hoover Dam and await the signal to attack," the vexillarius announced.

A bloodthirsty grin made its way to the face of the Butcher. Soon, his blade would be covered in the blood of the profligates, and the warmongering thirst of Mars would be quenched.

"Any other news?" he asked. Maybe they'd taken another NCR location, like Nelson. Being away from the action was annoying at times; he didn't know what was going on until many days after it happened. But the Legate would not question Caesar.

"Vulpes Inculta has been a busy man," the messenger replied, wincing when Lanius scoffed, "with only a small group of recruits, he slaughtered the town of Nipton, crucifying some, enslaving others, and allowing two to survive to spread the Legion's message of punishment."

"An NCR town?" he asked.

"All civilian," the messenger replied, his tone grave.

Nipton must have been a den of iniquity if Caesar sent Vulpes in to destroy it. The Fox wasn't known for kindly slaughtering his foes, as his actions at Searchlight clearly demonstrated.

"Not long after that," the vexillarius continued, "his third challenged him to a duel in the arena."

"Why does everything happen while I'm gone?" Lanius mused, "Did you see the fight?" He envisioned two grown men swatting at each other with swords like toddlers attempting to imitate the Legionaries.

"Yes, sir," the messenger replied, "Acanthus was grossly outclassed. He could barely block in time, and when he did, his arm shook from the force of the blows."

"No missing limbs?" he asked, "No disembowelment? What of broken bones?"

The vexillarius shifted his weight, obviously uncomfortable.

"Vulpes received a scratch on his stomach, which enraged him all the more," he replied, "within a moment, he disarmed his foe and held his blade at his throat. Lord Caesar had Crassius of Whiteriver call the match and Vulpes was granted the honor of beheading his challenger."

Hm. A very interesting choice on Caesar's part.

Lanius dismissed the messenger and ordered one of his guards to give him a place to sleep. Lying back down in his bed, he mulled over the news he'd been given.

It was obvious that Caesar was grooming Crassius of Whiteriver for some sort of higher responsibility. This was good; the junior guard showed much promise, both on the battlefield and off. He wasn't just some sort of mindless brute that could rip off a man's arm then beat him with it; Crassius was a critical thinker, but only offered an opinion when it was asked. Lanius would wager that Crassius was being tested to eventually replace Lucius when the time came. It'd be an excellent fit, truth be told.

Crassius was one of the handsome ones he'd let go, along with Marcus of Sedona and Ossian. He'd let Caesar have Crassius because he was a mountain of a man, much like himself. There was no need for him to be selfish and take a praetorian that would be a better fit for Caesar.

Then there was the news of Vulpes. Deceitful, gluttonous, beautiful Vulpes. Thinking of that snake was guaranteed to bring either a frown or a sneer to his face.

The Legate had no time for vipers; they were beautiful creatures and they stared a man in the eyes, lulling them into feeling safe, just before striking. Vulpes was a viper; a dainty, wild creature that gave off the appearance of being tame. He'd seduced Caesar with his silver serpent's tongue.

It seemed that the Butcher had fallen for his games as well. According to the messenger, Vulpes was a capable fighter. He was sure that the Frumentarius would be no match for him, but it was a disconcerting thought nonetheless.

After all, Caesar favored Vulpes and Caesar was growing old. Surely the Fox would whisper in Mars' ear, expecting to receive more power. And if that happened, his future would look rather bleak.

No, it was best to mistrust Vulpes and keep him at arm's length. They seemed to avoid each other, which was fine with him. Vulpes' dishonorable work negated most of his attractiveness, at least most of the time.

The Butcher rolled over in his bed, determined to think instead of the upcoming battle.

The armies of the Legion would march to the west, crushing the setting sun beneath their feet.


	18. Chapter 18

Veronica shook her head as Six stormed into the Lucky 38's presidential suite. There was no way to placate the pouting Courier, so she opted to let it be.

A bleary-eyed Arcade shuffled out of the kitchen area, his lab coat wrinkled and his hair a bit tousled.

"What's with the sour look, Miss Courier?" he asked, offering a placating smile.

Six shuffled up to Arcade and gave him a hug, snuggling into his chest.

"Who am I going to have to punch?" the Doctor pressed. He took her into the kitchen and made her sit at the table while he grabbed a glass of water for the Courier.

Cass stumbled in afterward, grumbling.

"Our girl likes to kiss on the first date," she slurred, "and then she asks them to move in with her. Completely fucking normal."

Veronica wouldn't have put it exactly in those terms, but that was essentially the gist of it. Arcade shot her a questioning look and she nodded, verifying that what Cass said was true.

"But you all moved in with me," Six huffed, "I hardly see the difference."

"That's because we're all losers with nothing better to do with our lives," Veronica beamed, "We were waiting for someone to come along and give our lives some kind of purpose. Fox has a job and a family. He doesn't need a place to stay."

Arcade put a soothing hand on the Courier's shoulder and sat down next to her.

"So, you like this guy?" he asked.

Six nodded, looking more like a young child than a grown woman.

"I want to be his friend like I am with you guys," she murmured.

Veronica cringed, knowing that being friends was definitely not what Fox had in mind.

"A fine piece of ass like that and you want to be his friend?" Cass groused.

The Courier nodded again as Cass searched through the cupboards for more booze. It was then that she noticed Boone, holding a bottle of scotch and passed out in a chair, his mouth open. Cass must have noticed at the same time, because she walked up to him and wrenched the bottle from his hands. From there, the redhead scooted the chair further away from the table and placed a trashcan in his lap, tilting his head downward to rest his forehead on the brim of the can.

"Shouldn't we get him to bed?" Six asked. Veronica was wondering the same thing, actually.

"Nope," Cass replied, "If you get him in bed, he could roll over and drown in his puke. Also, do you really want someone possibly pissing the bed?"

The Courier stared at Boone with sad eyes and Veronica shuffled up to her and wrapped her arms around her.

"I knew he wasn't doing well, but I had no idea it was this bad," Six mumbled, "Will he be okay?"

Veronica sighed and replied that she didn't know.

And truthfully, she didn't. Guys like Boone went to war and experienced bad things and came back unable to be normal. Though she'd just met Boone, she was concerned, very concerned, about his drinking. It seemed that everyone else was too.

"So, what's this about a guy?" Arcade asked, attempting to lighten the mood.

"His name's Fox," Six replied, "and he showed me how to kiss."

Veronica found herself on the receiving end of a vicious glare from the Doctor. She shrugged and tossed up her hands in exasperation. The kiss had happened way before she had a chance to prevent it.

"Dude's a harmless skeeze," Cass interjected, "I hinted at having a three-way and he backed down rather quickly. Fine as hell, though. Our girl is one lucky lady."

Arcade frowned. He was obviously unimpressed.

"Fox is staying at the Vault 21 hotel," Veronica sighed, "Six wanted him to meet you and Boone so we're going to grab some drinks with him after dinnertime tomorrow. And he wasn't coerced; he seemed genuinely interested."

"Couldn't stop looking at her tits," Cass interjected, "but he was listening to everything she had to say. Can't really blame a man for looking at that rack. I've even seen Boone look occasionally."

Six looked at Arcade with pleading eyes and Veronica knew exactly where they'd all be tomorrow.

And even though she was turning out to be some sort of fly on the wall chaperone, she had to admit that it had been cute watching Six and Fox together.

* * *

><p>The stench of vomit hit him full force, causing him to open his eyes. He was disoriented, sore all over, and couldn't see. What the hell happened last night? Where was he?<p>

Boone lifted his head, surprised to find a trashcan in his lap. He didn't deserve that kind of treatment; regardless, someone had taken care of him after he passed out.

The scotch was gone too. He'd have to look for it.

Boone grabbed the trashcan and walked on shaky legs toward the bathroom. The carpet squished under his boots; it was plush and barely used. Perhaps he'd pass out on it next time. Seemed cozy enough. They sure as hell wouldn't want him passing out in the beds.

He passed into the bathroom and poured the contents of the trashcan into the toilet. It was pure scotch. The thought didn't bother him as much as it should have. Maybe he was still a little drunk. Didn't care.

Light, almost imperceptible footsteps sounded in the hallway, drawing closer to him. Boone didn't want to look; he knew it'd be Six, her bouncy tits and jiggly ass, her long, dark hair and those disturbing hazel eyes.

A pair of arms wrapped around him from behind and Craig Boone felt like a wretch. Six was gorgeous, the kind of gorgeous that Carla had been, though they looked nothing alike. He knew the Courier was fond of him in some way and he fiercely, adamantly didn't want her.

Everyone had better stay the fuck away from him or his terrible luck would rub off on them too.

"What is it?" he murmured, watching her circle around him to speak with him.

"We're meeting someone at Vault 21," Six smiled, "you should come."

Boone stared down at her though his sunglasses, trying to process the invitation. He hadn't done something social in a very long time. The fact that they were hanging out in Vegas instead of actually doing something set him on edge. He couldn't live a domestic life, not after what had happened and was happening in the world. So he'd refuse and return to his scotch. He'd be ready when they wanted to head out and kill something.

"I think you'll like Fox," she said, "he's really nice to me, even taught me how to kiss. We're going to get drinks."

Boone narrowed his eyes. He thought Cass and Veronica were watching out for Six, not letting strange men slobber all over her. The whole thing sounded sketchy, and he wasn't about to let someone take advantage of a beautiful, naive woman, especially one who didn't seem to care that he was a monster.

"I'm in," he murmured.

Six threw her arms around him, beaming.

"You shouldn't hug people like that," Boone groused, "they'll get signals from you that you don't want to send out." He gently pried her off, expecting the Courier to pout.

She didn't. Instead, she nodded slowly in comprehension. She couldn't have been much younger than him, but regardless, he wanted to call her a good girl.

Six left with a swish of her hips, and Boone was forced to struggle against the dichotomy of a voluptuous woman with the mind of a child.

He shook his head. Maybe a shower would clear his mind. A little scotch couldn't hurt either.

* * *

><p>The night had just started and Boone gazed upon the brightly lit city. He knew then that he hadn't had enough scotch to push back the tide of memories that rushed at him. Then again, he was coming to the slow realization that maybe there wouldn't be enough scotch in the world until he drowned in it.<p>

An NCR trooper stood at the bottom of the stairs to the Lucky 38. He looked like he'd been waiting for a while, perking up when he saw the Courier. Boone shifted uncomfortably, not sure if he'd even trust one of his own with Six.

"Hey you," the trooper called, "I have a message for you. It's from Ambassador Crocker; very important." He handed the Courier an envelope and left quickly. Boone let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

Peering over her shoulder, Boone began to read the message. It appeared that Ambassador Crocker wanted to speak with her. In regards to what, however, he wouldn't know; Six read much faster than him and put the note away.

"So, what's that all about?" Arcade asked.

"Ambassador Crocker wants to talk to me about something," she replied, "and it's about helping Vegas."

The Doctor rolled his eyes and Boone frowned. Some people didn't get it that NCR was the first and last hope of New Vegas. Yes, they made mistakes, but the goal of securing the Mojave for future generations was noble. The NCR cared for and protected her citizens, and soon, New Vegas would be an NCR territory. And after the Legion was crushed, perhaps nobody would have to share his loss.

A quiet settled over the group as they walked to the Vault 21 hotel. On the outside, the place looked like a regular building.

Cass opened the door and Boone watched as the Courier stepped in, her eyes wide in amazement. This left Veronica in charge of speaking with the woman behind the desk. She blushed at the Scribe's mention of Mr. Fox and Boone found himself becoming increasingly suspicious. Six wasn't the kind of girl that deserved to be played.

The group traveled down a flight of stairs and through a series of winding corridors before they finally arrived at the bar in the common area. Various travelers sat around, talking or playing pool.

Six smiled in the direction of a lone man at the bar. The man's black pants, dress shoes and nearly-white button down shirt indicated that he was rich, but Boone had his doubts. After all, many escaped the Casinos with only the clothes on their backs.

And while Six introduced him to Arcade, Boone quickly sized the man up.

Fox was tall and thin and pale, as if he spent most of his time covered head to toe. Most would have considered him for some sort of inherited-wealth upstart, but Boone knew better. Fox's hands were calloused from heavy use and his arms sported a few pale scars from knife fights. One wound, in particular, appeared to be from a large blade, perhaps a machete. Machete wounds were usually from fighting Legion.

"And this is Boone," Six chirped, "Boone, this is Fox."

Boone stared up at the man and shook his hand. In turn, Fox smiled. His smile was open, almost disarmingly friendly. He felt himself go slightly at ease.

"First Recon?" Fox asked, motioning toward his beret.

"Retired after Bitter Springs," Boone replied. It'd been a long time since he'd admitted to being at Bitter Springs, equally as long since he'd opened up to a complete stranger.

Fox didn't reply; he didn't ask about what'd happened or mention what he'd heard happened. Instead, he nodded slowly and a grave understanding passed between them. Fox had that hawk-eyed look of a man who'd seen combat and a bunch of other shit. Somehow, the man had managed to stay sane, even suave, if such a thing was possible.

Fox understood; he had to be a soldier.

"You?" Boone asked.

"I am not at liberty to say," Fox replied, "though it was short lived." His kept face completely blank.

So, the man was a retired intelligence officer? Special Ops? It made sense. There was always a marked difference in the way infantry carried themselves and the way an officer did. Though Fox did seem a bit young to have retired. Then again, Boone was a young retiree as well. So maybe this man was NCR. Maybe he was from New Canaan. He'd probably never know.

The group settled in for conversation and Boone didn't care that he looked strange ordering a glass of scotch, straight up, no rocks. The things he'd seen would drive any man to drink. He didn't pay attention to the conversation, but, rather, preferred to suck down his scotch and watch how the others interacted, most notably Fox and Six.

Boone felt his heart break for Carla all over again as he watched them give each other glances and small touches. Fox seemed to be into the Courier, much more than she appeared to be interested in him. It'd been the same way with him and Carla; it'd taken months of failing to finally succeed in getting her to notice him. Fox didn't know that she touched everyone like that.

"So you've been inside the Lucky 38?" Fox asked, motioning toward the group.

"Yep," Veronica replied, "but Six was the one House wanted to talk to."

Boone leveled a glare at her, though it seemed to be lost behind his sunglasses. Yeah, the guy seemed okay, but talking about such things so casually was stupid.

"House?" Fox murmured, "What's he like?"

His hand moved to the Courier's back, tracing light circles with his fingers. Six seemed to melt under his touch and Boone found himself growing wary. The kid probably didn't know why her arm hair was standing on end.

"He's a screen," she smiled, "A big screen. He's nice, too."

"Like a terminal?" Fox asked, "With a keyboard and everything?"

"I think so," she replied, "There was a big, metal box in front of all the screens."

Fox chuckled to himself and shook his head. He brushed some of her hair to the side so he could kiss her on the forehead, stopping when he saw the large scab on her temple.

Boone knew it'd be only a matter of time before Fox saw it; the place she was shot was front and center on her head, and it wasn't even fully scarred over yet.

"Who the hell would shoot a harmless thing like you?" Fox murmured, his thumb soothing the outskirts of the scab.

"Benny," the Courier replied. Her whisper was barely audible. "I don't remember anything but being shot."

"So, you all know her from before she was shot?" Fox asked, motioning toward the group.

Everyone shook their heads, himself included. That was the strange thing about Six; she seemed to have incredibly good instincts about people. Boone would even put Fox on that list.

"And they're taking care of you?" Fox murmured, tucking the Courier's hair behind her ear.

She nodded shyly in reply.

"I'm amazed that people so honest yet exist," he sighed, "There are a lot of scoundrels out there who would take advantage of you."

Boon took a swig of his scotch then put the glass down. Finally, he was starting to feel something.

"So, how did this start?" Fox asked, his hand motioning around the table. His gestures were theatrical, almost mesmerizing. Yes, Fox had to have been an officer at some time. He was too charismatic not to be.

"I met Boone in Novac," Six replied, "then we met Cass at the Mojave outpost, Veronica at the 188 Trading post and Arcade and Rex here in Freeside."

"And before then?" he asked. Fox had barely touched his drink, in favor of giving his attention to Six. Cass eyed his drink hungrily and Boone wondered if she'd attempt to swipe it from the man.

"I was found in Goodsprings," Six said, "then I went to Primm, to the Mojave Express there, and helped the town get rid of some Powder Gangers. And then I heard Benny went to Nipton, so I went there. But the Legion was at Nipton and they killed everyone. So, I talked to their leader and he told me who Benny was and told me to lay low until I knew what Benny wanted. After that, I went to Novac –"

"Wait," Arcade interrupted, "you stumbled across a Legion patrol who were slaughtering an entire civilian town, and they didn't even do as much as touch you?"

Six nodded in reply. She apparently had no idea how much trouble she could have gotten into.

"I'm surprised the officer even spoke with you," Veronica chimed in, "I mean, they aren't known for their kind treatment of women."

"He was nice, actually," Six shrugged, "Never got his name or his face, though. He wore a dog's head on his head, no lie."

Fox appeared amused and Boone wondered what his problem was. Running into Legion was some serious shit; escaping them without a scratch was miraculous.

"My dear," Fox smiled, "It appears that you've lived a colorful life for the past few weeks."

The Courier shrugged, as if she felt her experiences weren't noteworthy. Boone would disagree; she'd helped him figure out who sold Carla, after all. When Six wanted something, she did it.

"Now, if I'm not mistaken," Fox continued, "Rex is the King's dog. Is he not?"

"Yep," she replied, "he needs a new brain. We're still trying to figure out where to find a surgeon."

They'd left the dog asleep on the couch at the Lucky 38. Rex had been having an awful day, so much that not even Boone had the heart to force the animal to lie down on the floor. They left a bowl of water within reach and the Courier had put a blanket over the suffering dog.

Fox looked thoughtful for a moment, stirring his watered-down drink with a straw and poking at the almost melted ice cubes.

"I'll look into that surgeon," he murmured, "having a connection like that would be rather valuable. Besides, having the favor of the Kings could prove beneficial if you're planning on going after Benny."

That was a clever idea, one that Boone certainly approved of. Also, the favor of the Kings might mean that they could get the gang to lay off of the NCR. Tensions toward the NCR in Freeside were growing.

"Give me a couple of days and I'll find you when I know," Fox said. He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

It seemed that Six was a lucky person, gaining help from all walks of life. Then again, her story was so undeniably tragic that people seemed to flock to aid her. But she never just took; Six always gave back, always made sure that she traded help for help.

He wondered what Fox would get in return from Six. Even if his intentions seemed honorable, Fox was a red-blooded man and was obviously very attracted to the Courier.

Craig Boone finished off his scotch and ordered another, resolving that he wouldn't let Six see Fox again until she'd finished reading the book that Arcade gave her.


	19. Chapter 19

A/n: Hello! Thanks again to everyone for the hits, alerts and favorites. I appreciate the thoughtful reviews as well :)

* * *

><p>Boone told her that he wouldn't let her see Fox again until she'd finished Arcade's book. Six thought this was a gross overreaction, but she read anyway. And with each passing page, she began to understand exactly why he wanted her to finish the book.<p>

It seemed that Fox's kiss initiated something different for their relationship from the relationships she had with her friends. She had the choice to either encourage it or shut it down, and she had no idea which was the right decision.

The Courier opened the door to her room, dark circles under her eyes from staying up late. She shuffled toward the kitchen with the intent of grabbing a Nuka Cola.

"You look like you've been enjoying your reading," Veronica chuckled. The Scribe sat at the kitchen table, munching on sugar bombs and swinging her legs.

"It's strange," Six replied, "but I think I'll end up doing it eventually. I know I'm way too curious to let it go."

"Hm, well you could have Fox take care of that," she smiled, "I mean, if you've decided you're into men like that. You've definitely got some chemistry with him."

Six popped open her cola and sat down across from Veronica. For a while, she stared at the bent bottle cap, trying to fathom the idea of physical intimacy with him.

"Not that I'm saying you should," Veronica said, "and not that I'm saying you shouldn't. That's up to you, if you want to establish more of a relationship before crossing physical boundaries. At least, that's what I did before. Some folks do the no strings attached thing but that's not my thing. Not that I'm saying there's anything wrong with it. God, I'm rambling. Sorry."

"Have you ever been in love?" Six asked, causing the Scribe to sigh and smile wistfully.

I was, once," Veronica replied, "we were pretty young, but I like to think it was love."

"What happened?" the Courier asked.

"She left the Brotherhood," she murmured, "wanted to put some distance between herself and her parents. And since the Brotherhood doesn't take in outsiders as members, a lot of people believe that it's our duty to procreate. That was what her parents thought. I couldn't bring myself to leave everyone behind and couldn't talk her into staying. We were both too stubborn; I haven't seen her since. Christine's probably moved on, though. I still think about her, sometimes."

Veronica looked sad as she talked about Christine and Six reached across the table to hold her hand.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, "I didn't mean to hurt you by asking."

"It's fine," Veronica replied, "sometimes, it's kind of healing to talk about it. You're sweet."

The Scribe sighed again and leaned in to speak to Six quietly.

"Listen," she murmured, "I know Cass has random hookups with multiple people, and I'm a little worried that you'll end up doing that if you're not careful. You're very pretty and you could have just about anyone you wanted. I don't want to tell you how to live your life, honest, but let me tell you that you want your first time to be memorable for the right reasons, not because it was a bad experience."

"Okay," Six agreed.

"No, I really don't want the 'okay' and leave it at that," Veronica pressed, "for God's sake, please don't get pregnant or an STD on the first go-around. You read about those, right?"

"Yes," Six replied, "it sounds scary."

"Alright," the Scribe smiled, "then that's going to be fine. I really care about you, and I think everyone else does too. Ask me anything, and I'll try my best to answer."

Six thanked Veronica and downed the last of her cola. Somehow, out of all the odds of running into creeps, she'd found genuine friends who cared about her. Maybe it was her luck. Maybe it was her people sense.

Today felt like a good day; Six felt relatively clear-headed.

With that in mind, she decided that she'd better go see what the NCR wanted.

* * *

><p>Vulpes sat on a bench outside the Vault 21 hotel, the jacket to his leather armor unzipped to allow the barest hint of a breeze to caress him under his thin, cotton shirt. He'd spent the majority of the previous night reading medical text in an attempt to understand Caesar's malady. The more he read, the more the Frumentarius realized that a cure would be incredibly difficult to find. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, enjoying a moment of relaxation before the Mojave heated up for the day.<p>

"Hey," a female voice greeted. Vulpes sighed, incredibly frustrated that he was being bothered.

He opened his eyes to see the curious face of the Courier, her dark hair down, hanging in wild ringlets every which way. His hands reached out to hold her wrists as he stood. She was a beautiful woman, quite uncommon looking. Many wasteland women were stringy from growing up with improper nutrition; the Courier was quite the opposite.

"Hello, little Miss," he murmured. Six was so short, coming up to only his chest. He was used to being a bit taller than most women, but this was a rather noticeable difference.

Vulpes leaned over to give the Courier a chaste peck on the forehead, determined not to literally fuck this job up.

"What brings you over in this direction?" he asked.

It had to be him; he was sure of it. She'd sought him out, and would be expecting him to take her back to his room and relieve them of her clothes. Perhaps she'd forgotten the ways of a man and a woman; her innocence hinted as much. Regardless, he couldn't get tangled up in her.

"The NCR sent me a message," Six replied, "Ambassador Crocker wants me to speak with him about some matters concerning Vegas."

Oh. So she hadn't wanted to see him. The realization was a bit jarring and slightly confusing. After all, he had a reputation for being a desirable partner. And she did find him desirable, yes?

Coyote eyes stared up at him and a pair of hands reached up to wrap around his shoulders.

"What's wrong?" she asked, "Does that upset you?"

By instinct, his hands migrated to her hips. She was playing a dangerous game with him and she didn't even know it.

"The NCR is notorious for taking people's money and loyalty and giving nothing in return," Vulpes murmured, "if they take over the Mojave, New Vegas will become a used up, co-dependent whore."

She stared at him intently, her head cocked to the side. He wondered about her thinking process. Six was too trusting, and she was quite lucky to have run into people that truly seemed to want to do her no harm. The rest of the world wasn't as forgiving.

"Boone says that the NCR will help Vegas," Six replied, "but I'll admit that I haven't seen them do much of anything other than sit around. It'll be interesting to see what the Ambassador says."

Good girl. At least she was skeptical of the NCR. Though he was still in an information-gathering state, Vulpes felt the need to press, especially now that the NCR was courting her. When he had a chance, he'd have to talk to Caesar about what was going on. This woman had some very interesting connections, House being one.

"Can you come with me?" Six asked, "I think I used to be a smart person but I'm a little worried that they'll talk circles around me."

"Sure," Vulpes smiled, unable to believe his luck. Firsthand knowledge was always the best; Caesar would be very pleased. He linked arms with the Courier and guided her toward the nearby complex.

It was a set of small buildings, located in the far corner of the city. Military Police guards stood outside the barbed-wire fence, armed only with police batons. And though the inner courtyard's bricks had been well maintained, it was obvious that the NCR was given the farthest, least important corner of the city. They were so unwanted here; the thought was heartwarming.

Six stopped in the middle of the courtyard, glancing around.

"To the left, dear," Vulpes directed. He gently ushered her to the proper building.

"You read my mind," Six murmured, "It's good you're with me."

He wanted to reply, wanted to ask her if she always had someone doing things with her. Instead, the receptionist interrupted and ushered them to the door on the left.

The hallway was dimly lit, the red carpet filthy and unraveled in places from years of foot traffic. It smelled dusty and old, unwashed and dried up; it was a sepulcher to the bloated, diseased corpse of the republic that it housed. In the coming months, the embassy would be purified by the stench of chemical warfare.

Vulpes watched as the Courier poked her head into the Ambassador's office.

"Hello, hello!" a voice called, "Please, come in."

He followed Six into the room, taking a quick glance about to see if the NCR's anti-theft propaganda poster hung from the walls. Vulpes wouldn't tempt fate by standing next to one.

The pockmarked walls were bare, except for a portrait of Aaron Kimball. It was surprising that the Ambassador's office didn't contain more personal effects; it was naked, almost clinical in design.

"I'm so glad you could make it here," Crocker greeted, "I have something I wanted to discuss with you. There's a task that we need done, and something tells me that you're the perfect person for the job." He stood from behind his desk and offered them a seat on the couch before turning to gently shut the door to the office.

Six sat on the couch closest to the door, her posture tense. Taking a seat next to her, Vulpes wrapped an arm around her shoulders in an attempt to put her at ease. He stretched out his long legs and found himself slightly annoyed that the coffee table was uncomfortably close to his stretching radius.

"I'm Ambassador Crocker," the man said, "You must be Six." He reached out and gently shook the Courier's tiny hand.

"And you are?" Crocker asked, looking pointedly in Vulpes direction.

He almost answered with his true name as a joke, but opted against it. Perhaps he'd been spending too much time with Caesar; his Lord loved to intentionally mess with people.

"Fox," Vulpes replied, "I'm pleased to have the honor of your acquaintance."

The man gave him a nod and shook his hand. Crocker's smile was refreshingly genuine, his handshake so friendly and inviting. Vulpes knew how to read a man and knew that this was no snake.

Sometimes, his work was like this. He'd meet a profligate that resided in a sphere of moral greyness, who did what was just and would make an excellent citizen of the reborn Roman empire. Eventually, the Legion would need farmers, healers and others. This one, however, would not be amenable to their cause.

But no matter who he met, it wouldn't matter. Overt sympathy for the enemy was weakness and Vulpes would slit the Ambassador's throat as easily as he'd shaken his hand. True to Caesar, always.

"Now," Crocker continued, "let's get down to business. I'm sure you've noticed the tensions between the NCR and Mr. House and the Legion. It doesn't take a genius to know that something's going to happen, and soon. The NCR is in a bit of a tight spot, and if we fail now, the people around here are going to suffer for it. I'm not going to let that happen, and I suspect that you're the kind of person who won't either."

Six nodded, intent on the Ambassador's words.

"To the northeast of here is a settlement of people who call themselves the Boomers," he said, "they're sitting on a huge stockpile of munitions, which would help the NCR greatly. These people aren't very friendly to outsiders and can be downright hostile. That's where you come in. You've got a reputation for being nice and making friends wherever you go. We'd like you to talk to them and do anything you can to convince them to help us. In exchange for your help, you'd receive amnesty for any past crimes against the NCR, as well as additional benefits and perks. Do you think you could do this for me?"

She stared at Crocker with wide eyes and Vulpes could tell that she was completely overwhelmed with the monumental task she'd been given. Her mouth opened and shut, as if she was trying to think too hard and speak at the same time. He couldn't imagine her painful mental struggle.

"She was shot in the head and has amnesia," Vulpes said, "I'm not entirely sure if she's in the correct mental state to properly assess your request."

Six reached over to his free hand and wrapped her middle finger around his for comfort. Her thumb innocently brushed against his inner thigh. The touch was electric and he had to suppress a shiver.

"I heard about that," the Ambassador nodded, "and these kinds of things are what the NCR wants to protect people from."

"I went to Ranger station Charlie," Six murmured, "and everyone there had been killed. I went to the Mojave outpost and saw the statue and then I was told to shoot some animals on the highway because the soldiers couldn't get to them."

Her thumb began to trace mindless patterns; she was dangerously close to no-man's land. Vulpes shifted, moving their joined hands to a more innocent location. She'd been the same way when they shared drinks at Vault 21; it was obvious that she had no idea what her touch was doing. The thought was enticing, in a rather perverted sense.

"You've been a wonderful help to the NCR," Crocker smiled, "We truly appreciate what you did to help us in those situations."

Six stared at the floor, as if trying to piece things together in her head.

"So either the NCR can't take care of their problems or doesn't want to," she continued.

Dear God, he wanted to kiss her for saying that.

"Give," Six started, "give me time to think about it. This is a big request. I hardly know you all."

The Ambassador nodded and smiled, as if he was sure that she'd come around eventually.

"Listen," Crocker said, "I know that you don't remember a thing about yourself. The NCR can look into this. Maybe you're one of our citizens; any family you have might want to know you're okay."

And that was the ace in the hole. The Ambassador had played the game extraordinarily well. He'd applaud if that hadn't just made him realize that he needed to conference with Caesar as to what to do next. This matter was time sensitive.

"Thanks," Six smiled, "I'm really happy you're going to try to help. I still want to think about this, though; I don't want to get blown up."

The Ambassador chuckled and nodded.

"Completely understandable," he smiled, "you're welcome to come back when you've thought this over or if you want to have a visit. My door's always open."

With that, they stood and shook hands, Vulpes following the Courier into the hallway. The Ambassador's door closed behind them with a click. In a second, Six latched onto him, burying her face in the thin cotton of his shirt. She was molded against him, driving him insane with each passing second.

"Thanks for coming with me," Six murmured, "I couldn't talk with him alone like that. Couldn't think fast enough."

She craned her neck upward at him and stood on her tiptoes in an attempt to reach his lips for a kiss, but fell short by a few inches. Vulpes chuckled and leaned over, happy to oblige her. In an instant, he was on top of her, hunched over and devouring her lips. He towered over her, pressed her into the wall, and reveled in her little sigh as she kissed him back.

This was bad. He wasn't supposed to be doing this, but the physical connection he had with this woman was so incredibly electric that he couldn't resist. He wanted her, right there in the hallway. All he needed to do was to turn her around and lower both of their pants. He wanted her like an animal, bent over, gasping, knees shaking.

It took a Herculean effort to back up and break off the kiss.

She stared at him with wide eyes, parted lips, and flushed cheeks.

"I like that," Six murmured. Her whisper was so quiet that he wondered if she was thinking aloud.

"I do too," Vulpes admitted, surprised that he was enjoying something as commonplace as kissing. It generally took much more than that to keep him pleased.

He added a quick peck to her cheek and began to usher her back to the building's entrance. The Courier clung to his arm as they walked. Battered doors squealed open and the pair stepped out into the heat of the desert. The rush of oppressively hot air and bright light was more than unpleasant, making him grateful that he didn't have to spend the night at the Fort, where the temperature would become absolutely sweltering.

People stared at them as they moseyed toward the Vault 21 hotel. Vulpes knew that people would be murmuring about Fox's new lady and the thought was somewhat bothersome. Yes, he wanted her and could likely seduce her as easily as he'd seduced countless other women. But this was different. This woman had very important connections, and there was no way that he was about to mess this up. Through Six, he had access to House, the NCR's next moves, the Kings, and a possible surgeon for Caesar.

He'd been so busy reading that he hadn't looked into the surgeon.

"I haven't looked into finding a surgeon yet," Vulpes murmured, "but maybe you wouldn't mind going with me. I suspect that the Followers might know of such a person."

Julie Farkas was a well-connected individual; she had to know a surgeon, or at least the location of one. He wasn't doing this favor for the King or Six. Instead, there was a vested, personal interest on his part.

The Courier nodded in reply and kept herself on his arm. For a dissolute, this woman knew her place well. She rarely spoke, deferring herself to him whenever possible. Admittedly, Vulpes liked the feeling of her being so dependent on him. So many dissolute women were ill-temperate, shrill harpies that felt the need to continuously open their mouths. Men of the Legion weren't even allowed to speak as such; a braggart was simply someone who was ill temperate with their mouth.

Vulpes felt no unease was they made their way to Freeside. After all, he knew that Six would keep a low profile and defer to him where necessary. Fox wouldn't be interested in a woman like this, but Vulpes Inculta had to admit that he was rather intrigued.

* * *

><p>It was another day of the same that she'd grown accustomed to, the days so similar that they blurred together in a cluster of beige monotony. At times, she wondered what could have been if she'd chosen differently for her life, if she'd decided to stay comfortable and allow herself to feel safe.<p>

But Julie Farkas wasn't like that and never had been. Freeside needed doctors and educators; she could be both. There were people out there who needed her, people who were broken and cast aside, people who needed meals, people who needed to be taught sobriety.

Julie thought on these things as she quickly changed her clothes and rinsed off the vomit that had soaked through her coat and onto her skin. She rushed back outside into the Old Mormon Fort's courtyard with a smile on her face, despite the circumstances.

Her smile disappeared quickly when she saw Mr. Fox standing around with a woman on his arm. He looked in her direction and she knew that he wanted something of her. Julie had seen this woman before; this was the Courier who spoke with Arcade. What in the hell was an innocent woman doing with a player like Fox? Wasn't Arcade watching out for her?

"Doctor Farkas," Fox smiled, "If you have a moment, we wish to ask you a question."

We? He was a 'we' with this woman? She had a hard time believing that. Regardless, Julie would be happy if he settled down.

"Hi, I'm Six. What happened to your lab coat?" the Courier interjected. She looked sweet and innocent, just as she'd remembered her.

"A patient threw up on me," Julie replied, "alcohol poisoning can do that."

"Gross," Six replied, "You're okay with that?"

She'd be incredibly put off if anyone else had said that to her, but this woman had amnesia and probably didn't realize that what she said could be rude.

Julie would use this as a lesson, then.

"I have to be," she replied, "this is my job. Sometimes gross things happen."

The Courier tilted her head to the side while Fox stood patiently and played with the ends of her long hair. From the moment she'd seen them, they hadn't let go of each other. This girl had to know that she was the flavor of the week.

"Why not go somewhere else if it's gross?" Six asked.

Julie smiled at the candid stranger, knowing that she meant no harm. If the Courier sought knowledge, then she'd try to share some.

"This job is about something more important than me," Julie replied, "After working here for a while, I've learned that life is about choice; I can either stay comfortable and selfish or I can find my place as someone who does what is right, even if it's uncomfortable and even painful at times."

"I like that," Six smiled, "it sounds right, like it's something I've known."

The Courier scratched her head, her hair moving to the side to reveal a large scab on her forehead. So, the rumors had been true; Six had been shot in the head.

"At least I think so," she frowned.

Julie watched as Fox leaned in to bury his hand in her hair and give the top of her head a light kiss. Admittedly, she wasn't sure what to make of him. He was known for seducing women then kicking them to the curb and Julie was pretty sure she'd delivered a few babies in the past year or so that had his eyes. However, he actually seemed like a nice guy. He was utterly devoted to his father, never got wasted, never touched drugs of any sort, and seemed to be honest.

Somehow, he was a loveable sociopath. Then again, Julie had a heart for everyone, no matter what they'd done. She'd help anyone that needed her, even if it was Caesar himself.

"Anyway, you said you needed something?" she asked.

"We're looking for a brain surgeon," Fox nodded, "I figured that you might know of someone."

So this was about Fox's father. Too often, she'd seen people abandon family and friends for their own selfish pursuits.

"I believe I know of someone who might be able to help," Julie replied, "His name is Dr. Henry and he lives in a town to the west called Jacobstown. He's the best neurosurgeon that I know of."

"Show us," Fox murmured.

He gently grabbed the Courier's arm and flipped through her pip-boy to the map. Huddling close to the screen, Julie marked the town with an opaque marker and found herself grateful that she could be close to people who smelled like they bathed regularly. Sometimes, the people she met had quite the odor.

"I hope you get what you're looking for," Julie smiled, "and please, let me know if I can be of further assistance."

Fox thanked her and left with a nod of the head. For a while, she watched as the pair made their way to the gate to Freeside. They walked arm in arm, so close that they nearly stumbled along; it looked as if they were attempting to fuse into one person.

It was a curious sight. Perhaps they really were a 'we'.


	20. Chapter 20

A/n: This shit is so long... seriously XD

* * *

><p>"He's right," Boone grumbled, "a large group will get unwanted attention. A pair will be hardly noticed."<p>

The Sniper watched as Six frowned and pouted like a child at the thought of having to leave people behind on the way to Jacobstown. Personally, he was fine with being left behind; going west meant no sight of the Legion. He could catch up on his scotch that way.

Besides, Boone could trust Fox to keep Six safe over any of the others; after all, he'd had combat experience of some sort. Fox kept a hawk-eye on the Courier, even as they stood on the safe stairway to the Lucky 38.

They were going through a lot of trouble for a dog, and he wondered if they just ought to put the poor thing down. Rex's whines and whimpers wouldn't help in a quiet approach to the town, but again, he trusted Fox.

Boone remembered a man from his squad that had a build similar to Fox's, and he knew that there was a considerable amount of deceptive strength in those long, lean arms. That was the thing about guys built like him; they could add strength and still maintain a compact frame.

"Then I want one more," Six interrupted, "in case Rex needs to be carried."

Good. She was thinking with her brain instead of her emotions. Maybe she'd be alright yet.

Boone nodded and knew that he'd end up going. He would have almost insisted that Arcade go along in order to ensure her safety in case she was hurt, but he had to admit that he was somewhat curious to see Fox in action.

He glanced over at the Doctor, who seemed relieved. Boone narrowed his eyes; Arcade was hiding something. He didn't buy the 'helpless doctor' act. Arcade was much too tall and strong just to be some Followers' doctor. No, Arcade had a past of some sort.

It seemed like everyone he ran into lately had a story that they either couldn't or wouldn't share. But that was fine with him; Boone certainly couldn't blame anyone for a checkered past. He had one himself.

"It's dawn," Fox nodded, "we should leave within the hour; this trip will take all day on foot."

"We'll get our things," Boone replied, ushering the Courier back into the Lucky 38.

They rode the elevator up to the suite in silence, the doors opening with a clatter of old parts. Boone watched carefully as Six gathered her things, satisfied that she knew how to pack for the trip.

"Ready?" he asked. He gave her canteen a tug to make sure that it was tightly secured to her leg.

The Courier nodded and turned to Rex, a smile lighting her face.

"Come on," she cooed, "we're going on a trip to get you fixed."

Rex perked up and coiled himself to leap off the couch, only to freeze and whine at the distance to the floor. Six sent him a pleading look and Boone sighed. Gently, he placed his arms underneath the cyber-dog's torso and belly and carried him the short distance to the floor.

He was whipped and he wasn't even into this woman. Maybe it was her personality; maybe he was just a sucker for a helpless woman.

The dog followed them into the elevator and out of the Casino where Fox was waiting. Boone almost expected the man to be sucking down a final cigarette before the trip, but he saw nothing in his hand. It was strange; almost everyone liked a cigarette now and then. Then again, an uncontrollable cough could really mess up someone's odds of survival in the field.

This added further evidence to the idea that Fox was involved in stealth-type operations. Boone didn't want to pry, but he found himself increasingly curious about Fox's background.

* * *

><p>The morning was balmy, and a strong breeze aided the small group as they began their day trip to Jacobstown. Voices echoed through the ancient, war-torn city blocks of the abandoned part of Vegas. Though it was much quieter than Freeside, the sounds were angrier. Shouts rose from distant street corners. Screams tore their way from unknown throats as the sound of breaking glass echoed on the morning air.<p>

She'd been warned to stay close, to not pay attention to North Vegas Square or Westside, the places that Fox called 'an infested hive of degenerate scum'. Boone had nodded in agreement, stating that they were places that nobody wanted to visit.

It made Six want to go there, to see what those people were like. Instead, she followed mutely, intent on the task of getting Rex to Jacobstown.

"I think there's just one kind of folks," Six murmured, "folks."

Both Boone and Fox laughed and shook their heads in disagreement.

"Don't think for a second that those 'folks' wouldn't do you in," Fox replied, "They'd drug you if you asked for a drink of water."

Boone nodded, having nothing further to add, and Six wondered if the world was such a terrible place that nice guys like Boone and Fox would be that merciless to people.

They walked past a group of failing farms, the scraggly stalks of corn wilted and unusable. Not even the plants were allowed to live around Vegas in peace; it seemed as if the Mojave itself was cursed and beat down anything that attempted to rise up against it.

Soon, they were out of Vegas, walking past an old power station.

"That is why you do not travel in a large group," Fox murmured. He nodded toward a sacked caravan on the side of the road. "People will think you've got valuable things like them and you'll get attacked."

Six nodded and held her breath as they passed the rotting brahmin corpses. She didn't understand why people would kill each other over things, but then again, she'd seen it before. The Legion took Boone's wife. The Kings stole Freeside's water. Benny took House's platinum chip. The NCR wanted to take the Boomer's guns. And in that chaos, someone was bound to die.

Perhaps the world was ugly. Perhaps people just wanted to steal from each other. But she couldn't just accept that was how things worked. Who would stand up for the people that just wanted to live?

She thought on these things as they turned off highway 95 toward Mt. Charleston. The road was long, steep, and winding, riddled with gravel and potholes. A light breeze whistled in between boulders, carrying Mojave dust with it. Nothing stirred among the rocks, save a lone bighorner.

As they trekked upward, the air began to turn sweeter. The dust died down, and in its wake, a tangy scent drifted on the breeze. Agave and barrel cactus disappeared, giving way to clusters of large, green plants.

They were beautiful.

Six approached one of them and stared up at their lush needles, reveling in their scent. Six knew this smell. She knew this plant, with its scaly bark and deep green foliage.

"You like them?" Fox asked. "I don't know the specific type, but they're pines."

The Courier nodded, unable to speak. While Boone's back was turned, Fox slipped in behind her to quickly ravish her neck.

Six wondered what she'd done to receive such a sudden display of affection, but she didn't care. The moment his lips descended to the hollow behind her ear, she burned, almost jumping from the intensity of the contact. Fox withdrew as quickly as he'd pounced, leaving a flustered Courier in his wake.

While she collected herself, Six watched Boone take a long draught of his scotch then replace the bottle in his pack. She was sure he'd run out when they got to town; part of her hoped that they didn't have any to sell him.

"Trees are nice," Boone murmured, "but they'll make visibility a bit tougher. Stay between us and don't wander off."

The group continued their upward climb, silent except for the occasional crunch of the old road beneath their feet. Rex clattered along behind; his tail wagged merrily behind him as he took excited note of the surrounding trees and wildlife.

Hours passed and Six began to wonder if they'd gotten lost. The road improved as they climbed, as if it hadn't been used as much as the road farther down. There weren't any signs of life; there was no smoke from a campfire, no trash littering the ground. But her Pip-boy said that they were close and she wondered if it was wrong.

The day was growing old. Shadows crept their way across the ground, creating eerie patterns through the branches of the beautiful, old pines. The sun had almost finished creeping back toward the end of the horizon.

Six looked up from her Pip-boy to see a tall log fence surrounding a large, red mansion with a clock tower whose sign revealed that they had indeed found Jacobstown. At the entrance, an extremely large, green man stood, his gaze intent on the approaching group.

Six called out a greeting to the strange man and wondered why Boone and Fox tensed at the sight of him. Yes, he looked strange, but they couldn't just judge him by how he looked.

"Welcome, humans," he nodded, "this is Jacobstown and I am its mayor, Marcus. You're free to walk around here, so long as you don't look at the nightkin. They don't like getting stared at."

He looked at Boone and frowned slightly.

"NCR aren't well liked around here," Marcus said.

"Why?" Six asked.

"Lot of bad blood between Super Mutants and humans," he replied, "sometimes, old wounds can run very deep and it's difficult to let things go. Personally, I don't have a problem with the NCR. Yes, they can set their goals too high sometimes, but they try. The Legion, that's another story."

"So, you're a mutant?" she asked, "You look like a green person to me."

Marcus laughed and Six bit her lip. What she'd said was honest; she didn't mean to be funny.

"You've got a refreshing point of view," he smiled, "must have something to do with that bullet wound on your forehead."

She nodded mutely, suddenly very aware of the scab on her head. The Courier shifted her hat and hair downward in an attempt to obscure it. She was very glad when Fox stepped forward to speak with Marcus.

"We're looking for Dr. Henry," Fox said, "we were told that he'd be around here."

The mutant smiled sadly at Six and she offered a small smile in return. She wasn't sure if she ought to be pitied for her condition, but she appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

"Doc's inside the lodge," Marcus replied, "I hope you find what you're looking for."

She found herself content to follow Fox as he led them toward the surprisingly well-kept complex. Armed mutants walked around, eying the group of newcomers with suspicion. The Courier couldn't blame them; from what Marcus had said, humans and mutants didn't get along.

"What's a Nightkin?" Six murmured.

Fox slowed and glanced backward at her.

"They look like blue mutants," he replied, keeping his voice low, "Do not look at them. We don't need to get attacked."

She nodded and followed along silently, glad that he was with them. Six knew that she could speak with people if needed and do a passable job, but she never knew when her forgetfulness would upset someone. And Boone definitely wasn't a people person.

Fox had a way with people; he could say the right things in such a precise way.

Articulate. That was the word. Fox was articulate.

Regardless, she was glad he came along.

* * *

><p>Dr. Henry was as curt and abrupt as any man would be who spent a lot of time around mutants, and Vulpes had to remind himself that staying undercover was of the utmost importance. Still, it didn't do much to abate his anger at being spoken down to. He didn't like someone giving him a half-assed amount of attention.<p>

He was the fourth most powerful man in the Legion and this doctor made it clear that he didn't want too much to do with the people who had traveled far in order to seek his counsel.

The worst part was that the man made him feel dumb. Of course they had to find a new brain for Rex; bio med gel only preserved parts for so long. His research should have told him as much. Still, the trip wouldn't be completely useless. He now knew of the location of a neurosurgeon, and when the Legion took the Dam, Caesar would have the most excellent care.

"What do you do here?" Six asked.

Vulpes felt the urge to smack his forehead. She was a sweet girl, but she really asked too many questions.

Henry mistyped at his terminal, cursing under his breath before turning to face the Courier.

"The Nightkin have varying degrees of mental instability from their addiction to stealthboys," he replied, "I've been trying to come up with a cure. I'm researching local nightstalker populations because they seem to have developed a natural stealth field. Another option is testing some things with the Stealth Boy Mark II prototype that I've found, but that test is a lot riskier and I'm not quite willing to try it just yet."

It sounded interesting, but Vulpes wondered how this would help humans. Mutants were a doomed race; they were sterile and ill temperate. Generally, the Legion had nothing to do with such creatures. Why in the hell would this brilliant man waste his talents on a pack of animals?

"I want to help with your research," Six said, "since you helped us. When we find a brain, could you do the surgery?"

"If you can help me with this, I'll give your cyberdog a transplant," Henry replied.

Boone shifted uncomfortably, his gaze on the Courier.

"Look," he interjected, "getting the dog fixed is nice and all, but what about you?"

Vulpes shook his head while an impatient Doctor watched the trio.

"There's no physical cure for amnesia," he sighed, "She's lucky to remember to talk, to read and to think."

Boone nodded and frowned almost imperceptibly. Vulpes watched as the Sniper took another swig of his scotch, knowing that he was attempting to cope with something beyond his control. Truthfully, Vulpes felt for her as well, but her constantly cheerful demeanor in spite of her difficulties gave him the reassurance that she would be fine.

"He's right," Henry nodded, "amnesia is a major issue. There isn't just a way to unlock those memories. Look, if you want to help, I need someone to look over the nightstalkers' lair. I've had a few of the mutants look it over but a fresh pair of eyes might help. Go see Lily at the bighorner pen and have her accompany you if you like; the nightstalkers have been after her flock lately and I'm sure she'd be interested in a little revenge."

A nightstalker den would be dark and full of cramped spaces where ranged weapons wouldn't be of much help. Whoever went in would have to be extremely quiet, lest they attract the attention of the entire pack. Vulpes sighed, knowing that he was the person for the job.

"I'll go," he murmured, looking at Boone, "I don't feel comfortable bringing her with or leaving her by herself."

"I'm a good shot; I can fight," Six pouted.

Vulpes didn't care that she had good aim; he wasn't about to send her into a den of nightstalkers. And he sure as hell wasn't going to leave her to her own devices, especially in a town of angry mutants.

Boone gave him a quick nod of approval before taking another drink of his almost empty scotch.

"What's a nightstalker anyway?" Six asked, making Boone nearly choke on his drink.

Vulpes leaned over to give her a quick peck on the cheek and told her to not worry about it. Maybe he'd bring a dead one for her to see. They were comically horrifying creatures that appeared as if they'd been created by some sort of mad scientist-turned-pseudo god. He was quite certain that their existence wasn't naturally occurring.

He turned away from his companions, intent on finishing this quickly so he wouldn't have to spend the night in Jacobstown. Just because they hadn't been attacked yet didn't mean that a Nightkin's schizophrenia wouldn't kick in; Vulpes wanted to be far, far away when one of them switched.

It was nearly dark when he opened the door to the lodge. The moon rose over snow capped peaks, casting jagged shadows through the pines. Vulpes inhaled deeply and reveled in the smoky scent of the cool mountain air.

Looking to the right, he saw a flock of bighorners with a Nightkin in a flowered hat watching over them. Vulpes suspected that this was Lily; he opted to ignore her in hopes of having a stealthy operation. Having a mutant crashing around behind him wouldn't be wise.

Vulpes circled around the outskirts of the town's fence in the dark and followed the tracks in the snow toward the Nightstalkers' lair. The number of tracks increased and he knew himself to be close. Without a sound, he drew his machete from its resting place as he approached a series of rocks leading to a cave entrance.

Sneaking past a set of rusted gates, Vulpes told himself that he was entirely mad to be going into a Nightstalker den alone at night. Then again, he was trained for such things.

The cave was musky, as if several generations of Nightstalkers made their home in the den. A soft, unnaturally blue light came from a cluster of mushrooms, lighting his way down a steep incline.

Vulpes froze when he saw something shimmer out of the corner of his eye. It was the faint, telltale sign of a stealth field. His heart hammered in excitement as he awaited another sign of movement.

There.

Vulpes sprang forward, reveling as his blade sunk into flesh. The Nightstalker cried out before being quickly silenced with a slash to the throat. Others were bound to smell its blood and he knew that he had to act quickly and quietly.

He glanced around, attempting to make sense of his surroundings. He appeared to be in a central chamber of sorts; the den branched outward from here. On a whim, Vulpes opted to turn left. The path appeared to lead downward from there.

A soft patter of feet was his only warning before a set of fangs sank deeply into his arm. Hissing, Vulpes slashed where he presumed was the location of the creature's throat. His reward was a shower of Nightstalker blood and a throbbing arm.

He'd been poisoned.

Nightstalker venom was a curious thing; it was almost never lethal, yet it caused the recipient to be extremely uncomfortable for an extended length of time. Vulpes had endured much worse, but still didn't relish the idea that his trek away from the town would include bouts of shooting pain and possible delirium.

He had a dilemma on his hands. Did he dare take the antivenom now? Or should he save it in case he encountered a cazador?

As Vulpes sneaked his way down the den's main pathway, he realized that he didn't have much of a choice. He'd have to save the antivenom for a real emergency, despite the fact that his arm was nearly unusable from the pain. At least it was his left arm. Besides, the Doctor was likely to have some antivenom; he could endure the pain for a while.

Finally, he reached what appeared to be the bottom of the den. Vulpes waited quietly as he searched for other nightstalkers. Finding none, he set about looking for abnormalities. A dead nightkin lay to the side, a stealthboy next to it, chewed beyond repair.

Sighing, Vulpes pocketed the stealthboy and headed back the way he came. He was lucky that the Nightstalkers were obviously hunting; truthfully, going at night was a wise option.

By the time he reached the entrance to the Jacobstown lodge, his vision swam and he was fairly sure that his arm felt like it'd been dunked in a vat of acid. Wordlessly, he shuffled into the clinic.

In an instant, Vulpes found himself with an armful of worried Courier. Admittedly, the venom made it difficult for him to form a proper reply, especially with her practically rubbing herself all over him.

But Vulpes didn't mind in the least. Let her rub away; that rack was nice and squishy.

"Get him some antidote," Henry groused, mumbling about foolish kids wandering into Nightstalker dens alone.

"I've had worse," Vulpes declared. He wasn't bragging; it was the truth. Two fang punctures in his arm were nothing compared to being scourged.

Six made him shrug out of his leather jacket and sit as the Doctor's assistant handed him a vial of antidote. Quickly, Vulpes downed the liquid, attempting not to grimace when its acrid taste rolled down the back of his tongue.

"Are you okay?" Six asked, "How did you see them if they were invisible?" She sat in his lap and splayed her hands over his undershirt, her thumb brushing past his nipple.

"I am thankful for two things," Vulpes chuckled, "bio-luminescent mushrooms and stealth field light distortion."

While the assistant cleaned and bandaged his wound, Six removed his hat and began to smooth her hands over his tightly cropped hair. It took his mind off the burning sensation in his arm and put his full attention on an altogether different kind of burning.

She gave him a sly smile and he fought the urge to give her a slap on the ass. The bitch was playing him and may have been playing him for quite some time. Perhaps she was attempting to distract him from the sensation of getting stitches. Six was much more clever than she let on. It was good that she knew her place:

Right in his lap.

"Did you find anything?" Henry sighed, rolling his eyes at the public display of affection.

"Occam's Razor," Vulpes replied. He leaned over in the chair to grab his bag, his other hand reaching out to the Courier's rear to steady her as he leaned over. Six scooted closer and he wondered if she'd end up straddling him. Ignoring the thought, he removed the chewed stealthboy from his bag and handed it to the doctor.

Henry turned the device over in his hands, inspecting it for clues.

"Hm, there's still power left in this stealthboy," he murmured, "still, the stealth radiation would explain why the mutations happened so quickly. Unfortunately, this means that I'll have to run the Mark II test on Lily. It's the only way."

"Is it dangerous?" Six asked.

"Testing could result in immediate and permanent mental damage," Henry replied, "there's a reason why they never got past the prototype for the Mark II. Lily already has mental issues, and this test will likely make things worse for her."

"Then why use Lily?" the Courier pressed.

Vulpes didn't care about the ethics of such an experiment. If the Nightkin wanted answers, then a Nightkin would have to undergo the experiment. As far as he knew, the risks would be the same for every Nightkin, since they all suffered from the same mental condition.

Then again, he had to remind himself that these were things that Six didn't know.

"Lily asked if she could help me in some way," Dr. Henry replied, "I told her about the risks, yet she still insists on helping me."

The Courier bit her lip and stared at the floor in thought. Slowly, Vulpes' hand trailed up her shoulder to snatch her hat from the top of her head. Seizing the tie that bound her hair, he gave it a tug, despite her protests. Hair tumbled down her shoulders in a messy heap and the Courier let out a frustrated sigh as she began to comb it with her fingers.

"I can talk to her if you like," Six murmured, "we won't be going anywhere for a little bit."

"Up to you," the Doctor shrugged. He turned back to his console, his battered, old chair squealing in protest.

"You want to stay?" Vulpes asked.

"You were bitten by one of those things," Six replied, "Shouldn't you rest?"

Her concern was unnecessary but appreciated all the same.

"I'm fine," he chuckled. He glanced back at Boone for help, but the Sniper stared ahead at the wall.

Boone was a wreck and it was a damned shame. Things like Bitter Springs never happened in the Legion, and if they did, severe punishments were dealt to the commanders of such operations. Mistakes were not tolerated in the Legion.

"Boone?" Six called.

His response was little more than a grunt, but it was at least a response.

Six shimmied her way off Vulpes' lap and declared that she was going to find Lily so the Doctor could run his tests. Sighing, he watched as she jiggled her way out of the clinic.

Within a minute, she returned with the Nightkin that he'd seen earlier. Six stood off to the side, waiting for the tests to begin.

Doctor Henry turned in his chair to address the Nightkin.

"Hello, Lily," he smiled, "The equipment is hooked up and ready. As soon as you give me the go ahead, we can run the test."

"I'm ready, Doctor," Lily nodded.

Wordlessly, Henry grabbed the stealthboy prototype and handed it to the Nightkin.

"Alright, power the stealthboy on," he murmured, motioning toward his assistant to check the readings.

A smile broke out on the face of the Nightkin while Vulpes watched carefully. If Lily had an episode, he wouldn't hesitate to protect Six.

"Feels good, strange, but good," Lily sighed.

The Doctor nodded at his assistant and she turned a dial on the readout machine.

"Stealth field is scrambling things," the assistant murmured, "gamma wave reading is zero."

Henry frowned and told Lily to shut the device down. Reluctantly, she handed it over to the doctor.

"So now what?" Six asked.

"Hopefully from this data, I can start some research into the Nightkin's mental instabilities," the Doctor replied.

The front door to the lodge slammed violently on its hinges, causing Six to jump. She looked like a scared coyote pup as she shuffled to hide behind Vulpes. A Nightkin burst into the clinic and Vulpes stood, ready to hack the damn thing's limbs off.

"Keene," Dr. Henry frowned.

"Well, congratulations on getting the Mark II prototype working," the intruder growled, "now just hand it over and we'll be on our way. My request is perfectly reasonable. Give it to me before I splatter your insides."

Typical. Vulpes knew something like this would happen sooner or later.

"What you do effects all the mutants here," he scoffed, "by being a part of this town, you represent it, whether you realize it or not. But you didn't think about that, did you?"

The silence in the air was palpable as the Nightkin processed what Vulpes said.

"No, I didn't until just now," Keene hissed. He left as quickly as he'd arrived, the door slamming behind him and rattling the lodge's old windows.

"Nice work with the nightkin," Dr. Henry sighed, "It's hard to get them to back down. And the readings from this test might have a lead of sorts. I might have to have Lily use the prototype again, though."

Having the prototype's use limited to only one Nightkin could cause problems to arise, if Keene was any indication of the Nightkins' addiction to stealthboys. Vulpes didn't want to risk having his only chance at a surgeon for Caesar because of a pack of ill-temperate mutants.

"Use neuro-peptide stimulators on a nightstalker brain," he interjected, "that should make it similar to a live brain, yes?"

It was a stab in the dark, but at least it was something. Admittedly, Vulpes was just touching on the subject of neurology in his reading. He wasn't sure if his suggestion would be even plausible.

"That's brilliant," Henry smiled, "simple, but an excellent solution. I can't believe I didn't think of that. I'll admit that when you all walked in, I was at my wit's end and didn't want to be bothered. But now, I'm really grateful that you did. You have my thanks."

Vulpes nodded in reply, ready to leave Jacobstown and report to Caesar with an update about the Strip, namely Six. As soon as he did that, he'd come right back to her. For some reason, he dreaded leaving.

Perhaps he was growing more attached than he'd intended.


	21. Chapter 21

A/n: I hope I don't have to slow down on my updates, but I might have to because classes are starting this week and I'm also starting a new job. So it might be 9 or 10 days between updates as opposed to a week, but we'll see.

So, here's a nice, long, Legioney chapter for everyone :)

* * *

><p>Six sat in the Presidential suite of the Lucky 38, knowing what she had to do next. She'd seen how Fox operated; the way he spoke with people made them listen to him and do as he requested. He was even able to talk Keene into leaving Doctor Henry alone and had talked her out of a terrible mood when he advised against having Lily come back to the Strip with them.<p>

At first, Six wondered if it was because Lily was a mutant. She thought that perhaps, Fox had an issue with mutants. But then he explained himself.

He told her that it was more for Lily's safety than anyone else's. A mutant wouldn't be welcome on the Strip and had the potential to be shot on sight. Fox's words made her reconsider her offer.

Thanks to spending time with him, Six felt like she could more readily talk her way through social interactions. This led her to believe that it was an excellent time to confront Benny and try to negotiate for the return of the Platinum Chip.

Resolved, Six stood from her seat at the foot of her bed and began to take stock of her weapons that could be concealed and brought into the casino.

She had a 9mm, a knife, and a set of spiked brass knuckles, all of which would come with her. Though she was very capable of being stealthy when required, Six very much doubted her ability to hide a pistol from the meticulous casino bouncers. Still, it was worth a try. She didn't know much about knives or hand-to-hand combat; a gun, on the other hand, felt like second nature.

Concealing her weapons, the Courier made her way to the elevator.

"I'm going out," she called, "I'll be back around lunchtime."

Six didn't wait for a response from her friends and rode the elevator down to the Casino floor. Bounding out of the elevator, she called to Victor, telling him that she was going to go visit Benny. The Securitron wished her luck as the exclusive casino's doors closed behind her in a rusty squeal.

It was morning, clear and crisp, the desert still partially cool from the night. The barest hints of a breeze stirred her hair, pushing the Courier in the direction of the Tops.

Six walked with purpose toward the propped gate that led to the casino and walked through it. Admittedly, the Tops looked small in comparison to the other buildings in the Strip. Its gaudily lit awning reminded Six of a clam shell that she'd seen in a book.

That book was from a time before she'd been shot; surely, this memory was a good sign for the day.

She grabbed the old, brass handles on the casino's door and pulled. The door didn't budge and the Courier sighed and pushed instead.

"Hey hey, baby doll," a man greeted, "Welcome to the Tops hotel and casino. I'll have to ask you to hand over any weapons you might be holding."

He eyed the pistol-shaped bulge in her pocket with a lifted eyebrow. Six giggled nervously in reply and handed the gun to him.

"Smooth and easy, just the way I like it," he chuckled, "we'll give it back to you on your way out. Now, what can I do to make your experience at the Tops the tops?"

Six bit her lip, knowing that she was committed after she answered his question.

"Is Benny around?" she asked.

"Sure is, sweetheart," the Chairman replied, "you can find him on the casino floor. Can't miss him; he's in a checkered suit."

She thanked the man and set off to find Benny, her face heating up when she heard him murmur to another man at the desk about bouncing a bottle cap off her ass.

Gathering her bearings, Six stepped toward the casino floor. Her boots made no sound on the patterned carpet. And while music blared in the Courier's ears, her heart began to pound as she realized that Benny was in the corner, staring directly at her. She'd been seen; she couldn't leave now.

Six mustered her confidence and told herself that her friends would be so proud of her when she came out of this negotiation. Fox would certainly be pleased, and then he'd kiss her and she'd melt into a puddle of goo all over again. He was good at that.

Benny stood from his chair, smoothing out his coat and putting out a cigarette.

"Hello," he laughed, "That broad they saw go into the Lucky 38 was you? Oh shit."

He was just as nervous as she was; the thought put Six a little at ease.

"I think you need to work on your marksmanship," she smiled.

Benny scoffed for a second and crossed his arms.

"I hit what I was aiming for. Maybe you've got a lot of brains, or maybe you've got a thick skull," he replied, "still, I can sleep better at night knowing that you didn't die. What say you and me cash out and go somewheres a little more quiet-like. I'll answer any questions you have."

Relief washed over her as she realized that Benny was willing to talk things through. Things had gotten out of hand for him, that was all. He certainly didn't look at her as if he hated her.

"What do you have in mind?" Six asked.

"To start, I'll comp you the Presidential, which is the best suite in the casino. You deserve a taste of the VIP life," Benny smiled, "go up ahead of me and I'll be business as usual for a while down here. In a few minutes, I'll meet you up there."

That wasn't what Six had in mind. She understood if he wanted to talk privately about what happened. After all, shooting a courier for their delivery was apparently a very bad faux pas. But she'd be dumb to have him come up after her.

"That's a good starting point," Six replied, "but I have two conditions. Lose the bodyguards and we both go up now. Let's make this an honest meeting."

"If that's what it takes to earn your trust, then that's fine," he sighed.

Benny wrapped his arm around Six's shoulder and ushered her away from the guards. They walked past one of the floor managers.

"Hey, there's the high roller!" he called, "Benny, you know that's Fox's girl, right?"

"I do now," Benny chuckled. He turned to Six and frowned. "Fox ruins dames, baby. He uses them then throws them out, broken hearted and all loosey goosey so any man that's with them after that knows that their gal's had a taste of something much bigger and better."

They disappeared into the elevator and he dropped his arm from her shoulder, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Fox and I haven't done anything," Six murmured, "besides, he's nice to me."

Benny just shook his head and shrugged. She was glad that he dropped it; Fox was a special friend and Six didn't want to have people talking poorly about him. Besides, she was an adult; she'd do what she wanted with Fox. Benny certainly couldn't change her mind about that. Her friends approved of him and that was all Six needed.

The elevator coasted to a stop and the doors opened to reveal a large, lavish room. There was a bar, two pool tables, a sitting area, and a wall safe.

"This is a lot bigger than the room House gave me," Six murmured.

"He," Benny swallowed, "He gave you a room even?"

The Courier nodded in reply and he sighed, running his hand through his hair.

"Okay, well," he murmured, "now that we're somewhere private, I've got to ask: How is it that you're still living?"

Six sat down on the stool next to him and sighed.

"I have no idea," she said, "a Securitron dug me up and a doctor in Goodsprings was able to patch me up somehow. I guess its maybe luck."

"House was on to me from the beginning?" Benny sighed, "And I thought I was being clever. Well, how did you track me down?"

Six shrugged. Benny left quite a trail; his jacket was more than enough to identify him.

"I got a name to go with your appearance in Nipton," the Courier replied, "the Legion sacked the town and the officer in charge told me your name."

"Shit," Benny shook his head, "so there have been Legion agents in my casino? I'll definitely be able to sleep better now. Nothing like slaver creeps to keep you comfortable at night. Well, let's get down to business. Which way is the wind going to blow?"

"I have a question first," Six murmured, "Who am I?"

He cursed, put his head in his hands, and began to repeat the phrase 'I ain't a fink', as if saying it enough times would make it true.

"Baby," Benny sighed, "I don't know you, not even your name. It wasn't about you; it was about the Chip."

Six felt her chin begin to tremble as she realized that the answer wasn't here. She'd have to either give the Chip to House or help the NCR, and even then, it wasn't guaranteed that she'd get so much as her name.

"Can I have the Chip?" she asked, "If I give it to House, he'll be happy and he said he'd search his database to try to at least figure out my name."

Her voice sounded weak to her own ears as she fought the tears that threatened to overflow from their precarious position on the brims of her eyelids.

"Baby, ease off the gas," he replied, "the Chip belongs with someone who can use it, and that someone is me. I'll let you in on a sweet piece of the action, but the Chip stays with me."

"But –"

"Tell you what," Benny smiled, "I'll give you a minute to think about it. This is about something bigger than you or me; this is about a Vegas that's free from House, from the NCR or the Legion. Take a breather and come find me in a bit."

Six nodded mutely as he left. What was she going to do?

She didn't have long to think; the door was kicked off the hinges by a group of Benny's guards. A hail of bullets went off around her and she cried out as one struck her in the arm. Six dove behind the bar, searching desperately for a weapon.

There, in the far corner of the cabinet, lay a loaded 10mm submachine gun. Six snatched it and popped up to shoot at the guards.

She didn't stop when they fell to the ground; she couldn't stop until she was sure they were dead.

The gun made a clicking noise and Six realized that she was out of ammo. Six glanced down at the guns that the guards dropped. They appeared to be .22s. And though she'd been shot with one of the smallest calibers possible, Six had still been shot by Benny again, though it was indirectly. The thought was so humiliating.

Trembling, Six shuffled over to the wall safe. She'd at least steal whatever was in there because she couldn't care less that Benny owned the things inside the safe. He'd taken from her anyway.

Tears spilled down her face as she inserted a bobby pin into the lock. Six didn't need to see what she was doing; the process was practically automatic to her. It was confusing. Why did she know this? Why did she know how to duck behind the bar and shoot the bodyguards? Who was she?

The safe creaked open and Six shoved all of the caps into her pockets before turning to the elevator. Doors opened and she made her way to the reception area.

"Baby?" the greeter gasped, "Baby, you've been shot."

"My gun," she sniffled.

The man nodded and ran off to grab her pistol.

"Hey Kittycat," a man behind the desk called, "What's a beautiful doll like you crying about?"

Six turned to face him and his eyes widened in shock.

"More importantly, who the hell is shooting gals in my casino?" he hissed, "Name's Swank. I'm the second in charge of this establishment."

"Six," she replied, "House sent me."

Swank's face fell.

"That explains why you're bleeding and Benny up and vamoosed without a word," he sighed, "Stay here, doll. We'll patch you up."

The greeter returned with her pistol and Six shook her head. She had to get back to her friends, where she felt safe. Amid a group of protesting Chairmen, Six flung open the door to the casino and stumbled her way out into the glaring light of the Strip.

People stared openly at her as she began her walk of shame back to the Lucky 38. Some murmured about her being Fox's new girl, while others attempted to stop her and give her help.

Six stumbled up the Lucky 38's stairs and Victor followed her in, telling her not to worry and that she'd had worse and that 'the boss' would set everything right. The Courier closed the elevator door, cutting the Securitron off.

She didn't care; she wanted to get to her friends. And she especially wanted Fox to come back from visiting his dad and hold her.

* * *

><p>Canyon Runner guarded a gate of nothing but dust and weeds. There hadn't been any new captures in a while and they ended up using him for other tasks.<p>

It was good to get around, and he found himself fortunate enough to be given permission to travel to the Fort to bring a pair of older slaves back to Cottonwood. They would be good tools to teach any new captures that he ended up receiving.

He always tried to mix things up in order to find the best method of turning new captures into industrious, mild-mannered servants. Though beating them and providing sensory deprivation was the standard for breaking them in, Canyon Runner was always one to attempt to create better results.

The addicts were his favorites. They came with medical issues that made many teachers execute them outright, but Canyon Runner saw potential based on the individual. They proved challenging to break and to re-teach, but when their eyes had been opened to a life without substance, they generally made some of the most excellent and loyal slaves. Generally speaking, of course; there were always exceptions.

The bottom line was that nobody wanted a jaded, old nag of a slave. Current methods created such creatures.

Canyon Runner stepped onto the raft and Cursor Lucullus began to untie it from the docks. He hoped that he'd see a high ranked officer around the Fort, but knew that his chances were slim, given the location of his pickup point.

"Wait!" a voice called, just as Lucullus was about to untie the final rope from the dock.

A man in leather armor ran up to them, his golden identification pendant glittering in the morning sun as it bounced with his movement. This was one of the Frumentarii.

"Ave, Vulpes," Lucullus called, "you seem to have caught us in time." He snapped a salute.

Canyon Runner hurriedly saluted the Frumentarius as he jumped onto the raft. The final tie was loosened and Lucullus began to row upstream to the Fort.

Vulpes must have come from the Strip; he was dressed as one of the dissolute. Dust covered the entirety of his boots and his pants, coating them in an iridescent shade of tan on black. There was a pink flush to his pale cheeks as he caught his breath and took a sip of water from his canteen.

"You look like you've run from the top of the hill," Lucullus observed.

"I did," Vulpes replied, panting lightly, "I didn't want to have to wait for another ride; getting back to the Strip as soon as possible would be preferable."

Canyon Runner wanted to know what was going on at the Strip, but he didn't dare to ask. He was a lowly foot soldier; official state business wasn't any of his concern.

"So, how many this time?" Lucullus asked.

Vulpes laughed and lay on his back on the raft, moving his hat to block the sunlight from his face.

"None," he replied, "Absolutely none."

The Cursor stopped in his rowing to look seriously at him.

"None?" Lucullus repeated, "no women at all? Not even half of a woman?"

Vulpes sat up and glared at Lucullus.

"Nope," he chuckled, "And half a woman? That's unacceptable; I do not take halves. There is this one, but she's involved in business, not pleasure." He appeared wistful for a moment before shaking his head.

"I live a colorful life," Vulpes laughed, looking at Canyon Runner. "Undercover has many meanings."

"So, this woman," he murmured, "What's she like?"

Canyon Runner wondered if he'd be reprimanded for his impudence. Instead, the Frumentarius smiled at him and regarded him kindly.

"What's your name?" Vulpes asked.

He wanted to know his name. One of his betters actually lowered himself to converse with him, to treat him as a peer of sorts. The amount of respect Canyon Runner had for this man grew exponentially; it was obvious that Vulpes cared about those beneath his station.

"Canyon Runner, sir," he replied, "keeper of the new captures."

"To answer your question, Canyon Runner," Vulpes replied, "She is an interesting anomaly for one of the dissolute. I'd go so far as to say that she's the model that a woman of the Legion ought to strive to be. She's quiet, differs to those above her station, and makes herself to be as inconveniently servile as possible."

That was quite a high compliment, especially from such an esteemed member of the Legion. This woman must be quite special. Perhaps Caesar would look favorably upon her and allow the privilege of her becoming Vulpes' property, if she was useful and attractive enough to claim.

"Inconveniently servile?" he asked.

"She has a strong desire to help others," Vulpes murmured, "to the point that she'll inconvenience herself and stick her nose into others' business. The results from such endeavors are almost always positive."

Lucullus took a break from rowing to have a sip of water. The canyon's walls were high all around them, shielding them from the brunt of the sun's rays.

"Female instinct," the Cursor nodded, "Wouldn't you say, Canyon Runner?"

"I'd say so," he agreed, "and finding such an individual among the dissolute is incredible. The new captures never know their place."

"This one most assuredly does," Vulpes nodded, "it's refreshing to see. The best part is that I don't have to bite my tongue to remain incognito around her." He smiled, laid back, and put his hat over his face, preparing for a nap.

Shots rang out between the canyon walls and Lucullus cursed, attempting to row faster. Canyon Runner ducked low on the raft. The cowards of the NCR were taking pot shots at them.

Vulpes sat up, smiled, and nodded at the Cursor.

"It's just like before Cottonwood," he mused, "except they're unable to hit us this time." The Frumentarius absent-mindedly massaged a spot on his arm.

Canyon Runner watched as Vulpes drew his long, black pistol and absently pointed it in the direction of the gunshot's origin. He couldn't help but flinch when the gun went off. With his ears ringing, Canyon Runner noticed something tumble over the edge of the cliff. It was a person, and as their body turned in the air, an NCR ranger hat drifted downward after them.

Vulpes laughed and declared that the shot was impossible; Canyon Runner would believe otherwise.

The successful errant shot was a sign of the favor of Mars, and it was something he'd never forget.

* * *

><p>"Is she attractive?" Lucius asked.<p>

Everyone in Caesar's tent froze, looking at him as if he'd sprouted a bear head. Moments like these were rare, but Lucius found himself to be in a humorous mood. Just because he was the head of the guard didn't mean he had to be humorless all of the time.

Vulpes shifted uncomfortably, giving Caesar an awkward glance.

"Yes," Caesar chimed in, "Is she?"

Lucius snickered; he'd caught Vulpes off-guard and now he was flustered. It was a rare but incredibly humorous moment.

"Well, I mean," the Frumentarius murmured, "yeah. She's very attractive."

"How much?" Caesar pressed. He stared intently at Vulpes, his hand stroking his chin.

Lucius thought for a moment that perhaps he shouldn't have asked. Caesar was starting to act like Edward instead of the dignified Son of Mars.

"On a scale of one to tits," Caesar continued, "Tits meaning, tits –"

"Tits," Vulpes interjected, "seriously."

He made hand motions to indicate the Courier's measurements and Caesar whistled. Lucius wondered if Vulpes was exaggerating. After all, if he was following Caesar's orders, then he'd spent a record amount of time without getting off. Of course, two weeks or so wasn't that long in the first place.

"Well, that's just a bonus," Caesar sighed, "but it's time to get serious. I assume she made it to the Strip. Tell me anything that might be relevant about what this Courier has been doing."

Vulpes nodded.

"She's gathered random people on her travels," he replied, "people who had nothing better to do, people whose business she refused to stay out of.

"Six travels with a Brotherhood scribe, a Followers doctor, a former caravan owner, and a retired NCR sniper who was at Bitter Springs. They're currently living at the Lucky 38, where House has given them a suite and instructions to retrieve his platinum chip, which Benny stole from her. The NCR has sought her aid, but her reply thus far has been that the NCR either can't or won't take care of their problems by themselves."

Chuckles rose from every corner of the tent as Caesar laughed outright.

"Good girl," he nodded, "Anything else?"

"No, my Lord," Vulpes replied, "she hasn't made a move to help House. Truth be told, she's been much more preoccupied with attempting to get to know me. My cover story has gotten quite the workout recently."

Lucius fought a smirk as he watched Vulpes speak about the Courier. He certainly seemed to think highly of her.

"Get to know her more," Caesar ordered, "Gain more of her trust and more of her interest. Come back when you believe you have a sufficient rapport with her. Before you go, however, there is a task that could use your expertise. Make your way to Kanut and assist him."

Caesar dismissed Vulpes and Lucius knew that he'd want to counsel with him. Wordlessly, he opened the curtain to Caesar's personal chambers and waited for him to enter.

"You saw that, right?" Caesar asked.

Lucius nodded; he was sure that everyone in the tent had seen Vulpes' apparent infatuation with the Courier.

"What say you?" Caesar continued, "I'll admit that I'm suspicious of him turning a new leaf so suddenly."

"You never know with a man his age," Lucius shrugged, "when we take the Strip, and then perhaps you may award her to him as his property if he's still interested."

Vulpes deserved something for his hard work. He just hoped that this woman would prove useful to Caesar in the long run.

* * *

><p>Kanut was the new man in charge of interrogations, in the place of Acanthus. Though he had much to learn, Kanut was loyal, first and foremost. The man had an incredible talent for reading others and had to learn when and where to properly administer force in order to gain knowledge from captured individuals. He handpicked Kanut for this job and didn't doubt his ability to learn in the slightest.<p>

Interrogation had been one of Vulpes' jobs before he became head of the Frumentarii. It took a strong mind to break prisoners, and even a stronger mind to not let the job permanently disfigure one's mental state.

After changing into his uniform, Vulpes wove his way through rows of tents in order to reach the outbuilding that housed prisoners. Legionaries and slaves parted around him, knowing that the wolf's cloak and no standard meant that he was no vexillarius.

It was refreshing to be where he belonged, among the sounds of men sharpening their weapons, laughing as they sat around the campfire. Women bustled about their chores, their expressions demure and soft, unlike the ill-temperate shrews of the Strip. Everything was in order; everyone was kept properly in their place in society.

It was a world that Six would benefit from. She wouldn't have to worry about bandits on the highways, wouldn't have to worry about the addicts in Freeside, and wouldn't have to worry about the corrupt, impotent politics of the west. Here, her amnesiac mind could rest.

And if Caesar willed it, Vulpes would be able to drop the Fox act with her soon. He didn't want her to become devoted to Fox. Besides, it was taxing to pretend to give a shit about some things. Mutants, addicts, bandits and the like didn't exist in the Legion; he lived in a world of order. The Courier's worries were unfounded for the future she'd have under Legion rule. The things she worried about, the types of people she wanted to help, all of these were problems that stemmed from an ill-temperate, dissolute society. It was the same type of society that caused the near extinction of mankind.

After winding his way through the Fort, Vulpes reached his objective. Kanut stood outside, his arms crossed. He made an attempt at hiding his nervousness, but the facade unraveled at the way he furrowed his brow.

"Ave," Kanut saluted, "this visit is much appreciated; knowledge is invaluable to success."

His statement was worded carefully, yet remarkably transparent. Kanut was suspicious as to why he was there and was likely wondering if he'd done something wrong. Had Vulpes been the same as he was when he was younger, he would have intentionally found fault with his subordinate's words. But the weight of responsibility pressed out a large portion of his wrathful side, molding him into a tool to be used at Caesar's disposal. Caesar saw his potential, even when he'd been an angry, rebellious prick of a decanus and set him on the path to achieving much for the Legion; Vulpes figured he owed that much to his subordinates as well.

"What do we have?" he asked.

"Two profligate troops, one male and one female," Kanut replied, "The female is a ranger, the male, a comm officer. They are from the recent operation on Ranger Station Charlie. We're working on getting names and information, but attempts have been unsuccessful so far. I wonder if they even have knowledge that can be of use."

"It's better to assume they do than to assume not," Vulpes murmured, "they're going to be killed anyway, so it's best to get out of them whatever we can."

Out of habit, he adjusted his goggles, making sure they were secure on his face. A guard saluted and opened the door to the outbuilding. The musty smell of unwashed prisoners hit him full-force as he entered the dark room; one of them shuffled nervously at his entry.

Good; they'd been kept in the dark and had very limited care. It was a basic step, but an important one nonetheless.

Kanut flipped a light switch on the wall and an old bulb flickered on.

The prisoners were chained to the wall; their limbs were given no room for movement. They were permitted to speak and their mouths showed no signs of the use of gags.

The male stared at him, his eyes wide in terror as he processed who was standing before him. In contrast, the female ranger remained defiant, her glare hard and her jaw clenched. Blood soaked through the seam of her underwear and Vulpes fought the urge to cringe; that fierce odor was coming from her menstruation.

"When you steal NCR equipment, tools, and personal property," Vulpes announced, "you are my bitch."

Silence greeted him; it was typical. He'd hoped for some different sort of response, but he'd been given more of the same.

"So, do you have names?" he asked. It took a hard shove to close the door and it groaned loudly in protest. Didn't anyone grease these things? Apparently, it hadn't crossed anyone's mind; sometimes he wondered about the recruits. It wasn't a plasma rifle or a terminal, for Juno's sake. It was a door.

Vulpes had to remind himself continually that the people under his command were former tribals, many without access to books, and many others were illiterate. He, too, had once been an illiterate, superstitious tribal, more animal than man. They all had humble origins; Caesar uplifted them and made them great.

"Stella," the ranger intoned.

"You look bored, Stella," he purred, "is the comm officer poor company? After all, he hasn't even answered my question."

"Connor," the man murmured. He seemed emboldened by the ranger's bravado.

Vulpes paced in front of them, sizing them up. The comm officer was visibly scared, but put on a brave front. He must have felt rather silly next to the ranger.

"You know why you are here," Vulpes said, "Put bluntly, you failed. The scale of your failure is immense; your entire station was taken out. Your station bordered a civilian town, nonetheless. And while you've been pissing or bleeding all over yourselves, Novac has been put to the sword, the same as Nipton."

Connor looked positively ill at the false news; a flicker of emotion showed on Stella's face before vanishing. These weren't agents. They had no idea he was lying about Novac's destruction.

Sometimes, a falsehood was the most expedient path.

"We punish heavily for failures in the Legion," he continued, "but we understand that the NCR rarely punishes for failure. You may receive a demotion or a dismissal, but that is the extent. So, I will attempt to speak your language, as I am quite an accommodating man."

"What I offer," Vulpes purred, "is a dismissal."

It was the same voice he used to seduce the dresses off of the most prudish women on the Strip. The pair regarded him with suspicion; neither looked ready to talk.

"Names, locations, codes," he murmured, "and you will get a swift dismissal. No crucifixion, no scourging."

Vulpes drew his pistol from its place on his belt.

"Just a bullet from this gun, in your head," he continued, "I guarantee that it'd be a quick, painless death."

They remained silent.

"Do you think I'm lying?" Vulpes sighed, "I have absolutely no reason to do so. And let me be perfectly honest with you; I've been scourged for crucifixion and it is definitely not fun."

Still, nothing. He'd have to play a little rough, a decision that he couldn't care less about. Perhaps it showed.

Vulpes motioned for the guards to grab the whip and regarded the prisoners coolly.

"Mr. Connor," he announced, "you have the pleasure of becoming an inductee into the scourging hall of fame. Unfortunately, there are many members, so I will likely be the only one who remembers your name."

The comm officer appeared to be younger and much more inexperienced than Stella was. He'd crack easily under pressure, if the woman's protective instincts didn't kick in first. They'd start with a less damaging whip, one with knots tied to its leather ends. There was no sense in using the strongest instruments first.

After Connor was chained to a post, Kanut unfurled the whip, awaiting Vulpes' signal to begin. With a nod, the young officer's fate was sealed.

As leather repeatedly met skin, a loud snap and a cry of pain sounded; it was sharp, almost a painful sound in such a confined area. Blood splattered on Vulpes' goggles and he sighed.

"You're bleeding on me," he murmured, "You're bleeding everywhere."

He walked around to the other side of the post, moved his goggles to the face of his cowl, and knelt down to look Connor in the eyes. The lash hit the prisoner and he cried out again, making Vulpes blink and move back. That was a little too close; the kid was quite the screamer.

"Your first mistake was remaining silent when I asked you for information," Vulpes explained, "by doing that, you aroused my suspicions. And when my suspicious are aroused, I am absolutely relentless."

Kanut let up on the whip, making Vulpes smirk. The man knew when to stop; this was a sign of a good interrogator.

Vulpes leaned in and grabbed Connor's chin, forcing his glassy, red-rimmed eyes to meet his.

"I know what you're thinking," he said, "That I enjoy this, like some sort of mustache-twirling villain from La Fantoma. But the truth is, I couldn't care less. You're simply choosing the painful, ridiculous way out."

Stella seethed in her corner, straining her arms against her restraints. Letting go of the comm officer's chin, Vulpes sauntered over to her. He kept his distance; this one would bite him if he got too close.

"She is positively rabid," Kanut murmured, motioning toward the ranger with the whip.

The flogging continued and Vulpes sidled as close to Stella as was safe.

"Listen," he murmured, "I've been through what's happening to him right now. It hurts like hell, and you wish that you'd be able to just pass out from the pain. But each lash wakes you up, keeping you from doing so. And by the time it's over, you've screamed your throat raw and there's barely any flesh left on your back. On my back, in some places, there's no sensation. At other times, the muscles twitch and tie themselves into knots. I'm twenty four and sometimes I wake up and feel so old and sore."

The lashing stopped for a moment and Kanut leaned in to speak with Connor.

"My point is," Vulpes continued, "that this is no way for someone to go. Yes, let some be made an example of. But this one is soft. Had he been born into the Legion, he would have been kept as a field worker, because he is able-bodied, but not able-minded. Give us something, Stella. Let me put him out of his misery."

She paused and drew a shuddering breath as she gazed upon her comrade.

"Mike," she murmured.

Vulpes stared into the woman's eyes, concentrating wholly on her next words.

"Mike Rotch," she finished.

"Mike Rotch," he repeated.

Oh.

He was sure that his grin looked silly as he leaned back against the wall, trying to contain his laughter.

"We have a smart one, Kanut," Vulpes chuckled.

Stella pursed her lips, mentally preparing herself to be flogged.

"Get the big boy whip," he murmured, "enough toying around."

Kanut lifted a brow before nodding and grabbing a cat of nine tails. The whip unfurled from itself with a clattering of metal and glass. It was a strangely beautiful sound.

"I sought to punish you a little more kindly," Vulpes said, "But Stella apparently doesn't approve of your punishment and makes light of the situation you're in, Connor. So, you'll be given a man's punishment."

The ranger's eyes widened as Kanut stood back and lowered his arm into the position he'd need for proper leverage.

"No!" she yelled, "Do it to me, not him!"

Vulpes nodded and the whip cracked through the air. Its tails dug into the comm officer's back, some flipping around to his torso. Kanut shifted and yanked the whip back. Flesh ripped away; Connor's scream was nearly unbearable.

"Not quite," Vulpes interjected, "if you go too low, you'll rip out a kidney, which isn't what we're aiming for."

He took the whip from Kanut and stood behind the prisoner. The whip shot forward from its place behind him.

"There was nothing wrong with your application," he instructed, "but the rip is the important part. If you do it the way you did it, you could injure yourself. Watch."

In one smooth motion, Vulpes jerked the whip back. Amid screams of pain and protest, he lashed the whip forward again and repeated the process. He whipped forward again and ripped back. He'd gotten to seven before pain shot down his back.

Thankfully, his gasp was overpowered by Connor's scream. His back radiated pain down his arm, making the hand holding the whip numb. He'd used proper technique, but that was a small comfort. An injury from being scourged resurfaced while he was scourging someone.

Kanut looked concerned but said nothing; it was better to not show the prisoners that he'd been injured. Vulpes drew the whip back another time, attempting to not wince at his back's throbbing protest.

"Stop," Stella cried, "There's a lockbox under the floorboards behind the reception desk. Just put him out of his misery."

Well, that was fortuitous. He wouldn't have to strike again.

Vulpes handed the whip to Kanut and drew his revolver. He turned to face Stella.

"Let's hope you're right," he said, "Otherwise, it'll be you in this position instead of him."

As Vulpes sauntered around to the front of the prisoner, he noticed Connor was barely coherent form the pain, his eyes lolling around in their sockets.

"Say hello to Tandi for me," he murmured, pulling the trigger.

Without a working brain, the body twitched before collapsing a final time. Vulpes holstered his pistol; the deed was done.

A red-eyed Stella glared at him as he wiped brains off his cheek. The woman was so angry, constantly ready to fight.

"Kanut," he called, "Any ideas for the ranger?"

Kanut stared at the woman and nodded slowly.

"She has been poisoned by the wasteland and will be unfit for proper duties," he said, "her fierceness is unmatched; she killed multiple guards as they took her in, as well as a Centurion. Let her become an arena fighter, if she wishes to play at being a man so much."

"Good solution," Vulpes replied, "I appreciate that you're thinking in the abstract."

Kanut nodded and signaled for the guards to unchain her and drag her toward the pen. While Stella kicked and cursed, a recruit approached her with a damp rag and put it over her nose and mouth. A punch in the side forced the wild-eyed ranger to breathe and she slumped forward in her restraints. The recruits dragged her out of the building, leaving Vulpes and Kanut alone with a dead body.

"I do not relish using the cat," Kanut murmured, "even if it is the standard for crucifixion." He glanced at Vulpes' shoulder.

"And such is the mark of a good interrogator and executioner," Vulpes nodded, "a man who understands the seriousness of his work and takes no joy in inflicting pain on others. I am pleased with my selection."

He patted Kanut on the shoulder and left him, trying desperately not to think of the one time he failed to follow his own standard: Nipton.

* * *

><p>It was twilight and she looked out over the lake toward the great, lit city. Out there was freedom, as phantom and unreachable as the fading sunset that she watched.<p>

About three years passed since her capture, each day stretching onward in a tireless haze. Siri was the only doctor in the camp and her days were filled with a continual struggle to stay effective, though she had much more work than she could handle. At least she kept busy.

A lone figure approached her tent and her heart softened. Perhaps it was Stockholm syndrome, some sort of sympathy for the devil that made her want to see him once in a while. But a part of her wanted to believe that Vulpes Inculta was a sheep in wolf's clothing.

He greeted her with an exhausted smile and she inclined her head downward in submission. Blood and what appeared to be brain material was splattered on his face and armor. Siri didn't want to know what he'd been up to; she wanted to lie to herself and pretend that he was one of the more normal men that were one of her patients.

"Ave," she said, fighting the urge to call him 'sweetie'. He'd probably understand the word from his time as an agent, and might even be okay with her calling him that once. But saying it would be so unprofessional.

Vulpes stepped into the tent and she closed the flap behind him. Wincing, he removed his cowl and began to untie his armor. Siri helped him undress, knowing that she was clearly overstepping her bounds.

But it was obvious that he'd come to her for more work on his back. She'd see him once in a while and would massage his knotted muscles with a numbing oil. And every time, it'd devolve into slow, sensual sex, the kind that made her want to cry because it made her almost feel like a normal woman again. Vulpes was one of the only men that kissed her. She knew it was part of him being a spy and nothing more. Perhaps he used her to hone his skills; it was a dirty, discouraging thought.

It was strange, feeling affection for a man because he was good at sex and didn't hit her. He'd carry on a half-permissive conversation with her and would occasionally pull out. God, her standards had gotten really low.

Siri grabbed the oil she'd need to work the knot out and when she turned back, Vulpes was already on the bedroll. Putting the oil to the side, she knelt down, straddled his butt, and examined his back.

"It's probably a smaller pull," he murmured, the sound muffled by the bedroll.

"I agree," she replied.

Siri spread a thin layer of oil on her hands and began to gently knead the area between his shoulder blades.

"If I may be so bold," she mumbled, "it seems that something troubles you, sir."

"We live in a troubled world," he replied, "where nobody knows their place. Outside of the Fort is a world of bandits and addicts and scum. My trouble is no greater than that of anyone else."

She kept silent, grateful that he decided to not chastise her for her indiscretion. Vulpes rarely did so, and for that, she found him better than most. Siri continued working the knots out of his back and remained mute.

"The profligate gave me cause," he sighed, "I didn't like doing it."

Her thumbs swirled around the muscles at the base of his neck. In a minute or so, he'd turn around and begin to touch her. He'd leave kisses along her jaw as he let her melt against him. She'd be on top of him while he ground into her from below.

Siri should have felt dirty that she wanted it from a man who played Russian roulette with his sexual health. She should have felt filthy, because her face heated up from the thought of few minutes of intimacy and ten seconds of bliss from a man who was allowed to backhand her if he felt like it.

But Siri supposed that she didn't have the dignity left to care.

After a moment, Vulpes shifted and she moved to kneel next to him. The expected touch never came as he stood and began to put his armor on.

"There are doctors in Freeside," he nodded, "so when we take Vegas, you'll have more help with your duties. Until now, we haven't been able to locate anyone to assist."

Oh.

That was some good news. It was unexpected, but very good.

"The quality of healthcare should increase with more help," she murmured.

Vulpes gave Siri a quick pat on the back and left, leaving her confused. She'd lost count of the number of times that he'd used her for things other than medical care, but this time, he'd given her a pat on the back as if she was a boy. He'd been completely uninterested and Siri was sure that she hadn't changed.

Maybe he'd changed. Maybe he'd found someone and was actually attempting to remain faithful after a fashion. Siri snorted; that'd never happen.

She wiped her hands on a towel and readied herself for bed, selfishly hoping for more doctors.


	22. Chapter 22

A/n: There's sexual content in this chapter, but nothing that I think needs a specific warning.

* * *

><p>She'd had her cry. Her arm was healing and feeling better every day. The best part was that Fox would be back soon.<p>

But Mr. House was so mad at her.

Six sat in front of House's big screen, hugging her knees and looking up at the display.

"Silly, dumb girl," he chided, "What did you think would happen? Did you really think you could make a deal with him?"

She nodded mutely as shame coiled in her gut.

"Benny tried to kill you for that package," House continued, "he'd shoot you a million times over if it furthered his goals. Are you going to keep giving him opportunities to kill you? It's becoming a hobby of his."

His words cut deeply, but his tone was so matter-of-fact that it confused her.

"I let you and your friends in here with the promise that you'd get the Chip back," he sighed, "but instead, you've been hanging around the Strip, slobbering all over a disease-ridden playboy. That Chip is absolutely integral to our operation. It is integral to the safety of the Strip. This is bigger than anything you've ever imagined."

"Fox is nice," Six quipped. House's response was little more than a bark of laughter.

Fine. She wasn't going to argue with him about Fox. It seemed like some people didn't like him.

"Benny didn't know who I am," Six sighed, "I wanted to figure that out."

"Of course he didn't," House replied, "he wanted the Chip. Bring me the Chip and we will further discuss the information you want."

The Courier ran her hands through her hair and sighed.

"For what it's worth," Six murmured, "I am really sorry that I messed this up. I appreciate the wonderful home you've given me and I want to try to make this right. Where do you recommend I start?"

"It's no mystery where he's gone," House replied, "there are only two places that have the hardware to read the Platinum Chip. The Lucky 38 is one, of course; the other is located at Caesar's camp in a bunker beneath Fortification Hill."

Six frowned.

"I ran into a Legion officer in Nipton," she said, "I wish I hadn't tripped all over myself around him and got to know him a little. Maybe I would have had an in with them. They're not known for being very friendly."

"No, they're not," House said, "I won't lie to you; it'll be dangerous. You'll have to infiltrate the camp. But you've made quite a splash on the Strip. I predict that you may get an official summons in the near future. If you do, this will make your task exponentially less risky."

"What do you want me to do there?" she asked. Maybe the Legion would be okay with her if she offered to do something for them in exchange. That always seemed to work.

"I want you to open a hatch in the basement of the weather station at Fortification Hill," he answered, "it'll be easy to recognize; the door will bear the Lucky 38's logo. The Chip can open the hatch."

"So, what's in there?" Six asked.

"Something very important," House replied, "but I don't want to spoil the surprise. Now, unless there's something else important to discuss, I don't want to see you back in here until you have that Chip."

The screen flickered to a display that said 'connection lost'; House hung up on her.

Sighing, Six made her way up the stairs to the elevator and ordered it to go to the presidential suite. As it rumbled to her floor, she knew that she couldn't tell everyone what House's instructions were. There was no way that any of her friends would be okay with her visiting the Legion.

And maybe she'd see that officer again. Maybe she'd be able to thank him for being nice to her and giving her information about Benny. Six had been in such a fog that entire week after she'd woken up.

The elevator door opened and she stepped out with a sigh. Six wasn't quite sure what to do. She'd been lucky that answers and connections had been practically falling in her lap, but she couldn't rely on constant good fortunes.

Boone appeared in the doorway to the bedrooms. He leaned heavily on the doorframe, a half-empty bottle of scotch in his hand.

"Hey," he slurred, "Fox's coming back tonight, right?"

"He should be," Six replied.

Boone started early today. Drinking was supposed to be fun, but Boone never looked like he was having fun. To be honest, Six rarely saw him without a drink of some sort.

"When he comes back," Boone continued, "don't bring us along. Go by yourself."

"Do you all not like him?" she asked. Six thought that they were all friends.

"We do," he replied, "that's why you go alone."

The realization hit her that her friends wanted to give them space, to let her friendship with Fox hopefully turn into something more. But she wasn't sure. Six liked Fox just fine. She liked being around him, liked how he was so patient with her, and loved the way he touched and kissed her.

But, dating him? Gifts, flowers, and anniversaries? Engagement? God, no. She had enough of her own problems and didn't want to multiply them by adding a confusing relationship on top of everything else. Besides, she'd make a naive mother.

No, Six wanted things to stay the way they were with Fox; some talking, some kissing, and some touching. Then again, if they were alone, they could do a bit more of the later two. And if what others said about Fox was true, then he'd want the same as her.

"Okay," she smiled. Perhaps going out with him would be nice.

"Now listen," Boone murmured, "Listen. Guys like him, like us, have stuff that's happened that we are ashamed of. You've got to be ready for when he tells you about it. Maybe he shot some kids or something but you have to be ready because he's going to tell you sometime."

This had a lot more to do with Boone than it did with Fox. She didn't want to dismiss what he said but it was hard to take it seriously when he was some of the drunkest she'd ever seen him.

So instead, Six nodded and ushered Boone into the kitchen to try to get him to drink some water. Fox didn't seem to have any personal issues.

* * *

><p>This was incredibly lame. He was sure she wouldn't like it and try to be nice about it or she'd laugh and throw it out. He should have gotten her something nice, like a dress or an attractive set of grips for her pistol. But he was running out of time and this seemed like it could be a good idea.<p>

Vulpes picked a bundle of pine needles from a tree and inspected them for bugs before carefully wrapping them and putting them in his bag.

It was late afternoon and the sun crept back to its hiding place over the jagged peaks to the west. Dust blew up from the dry earth, chasing after an intolerant crow.

He entered Freeside and began to walk as quickly as was reasonable to the Strip. Six had probably awaited his return and he was admittedly eager to see her. Perhaps he'd take her back to his room at the Vault 21 hotel so they could have an evening away from prying eyes.

Vulpes hastily showed his passport to the Securitron guarding the gate and walked toward the stairs to the Lucky 38.

"Howdy there," a securitron called. It had the face of a cowboy and a voice to go with; Vulpes questioned the amount of programming and time required to create a persona. Didn't House have better things to do with his resources?

"Is Six around?" he asked.

"Sure is," the robot replied, "My name's Victor. You must be Mr. Fox. It's been an adventurous week for the little lady; I'm sure she'll be glad to see you. I'll let her know you're here."

There was a pregnant pause before the securitron's screen flickered back to life.

"She'll be down in a minute," it said, "She's got to get ready."

Vulpes nodded and waited for the Courier to come down, sitting on a nearby bench. Contrary to his expectations, it was not long before the doors to the Lucky 38 swung open to reveal a smiling Six. She wore a faded, navy dress, the same one she'd worn when he saw her at Gomorrah. There was a bandage covering a large portion of her upper arm; a sour feeling immediately settled into the pit of his stomach. Vulpes walked over to the Courier and gave her a kiss on the forehead, his hands sliding to her back to draw her closer.

"What happened to your arm?" he murmured.

"I need to tell you what happened while you were gone," the Courier replied, "I made some mistakes."

He'd take care of this; she wouldn't have to worry about a thing. And whoever hurt her would be in for a world of unimaginable pain.

"Let's go to my room, then," Vulpes said, "we can talk about it in private."

Six shook her head vehemently, staring at the gate that led deeper into the Strip.

"I don't want to see the Tops for a while," she murmured.

So she'd confronted Benny in his absence, and that filthy, ill-temperate degenerate shot her again. Vulpes would have to sort this out, somehow. In the meantime, he could provide some sort of comfort.

"I have something for you," he murmured, "I didn't have time to get you anything nice but I saw it and was reminded of you."

He fished around in his bag and retrieved his present, handing it to Six and eagerly watching as she unwrapped it. He wasn't one for sentimental gifts. If this didn't work, he'd stick to buying a bunch of pretty pre-war trinkets that every woman loved.

Six was silent as she stared at the pine needles and cone in her hands as if she'd received the most precious gift in the world. She turned her reverent gaze from the gift to him. Unexpectedly, his breath hitched.

"This is so nice," Six smiled, "I don't know what to say."

He didn't either, which was surprising. It was difficult to wrap his mind around the fact that she actually liked it; he essentially gave her some nuts and twigs.

"It's so thoughtful," she continued, "They remind me of something."

This opened up a realm of possibilities; he'd have to put a lot more though into his gift giving. And as she popped back inside the Lucky 38 to keep the gift safe, he wondered if she was worth it.

Six reemerged from the casino, bounded down the stairs, and flung herself into his arms, burying her face into his chest. She peered up at him and he drew her in for a rough, demanding kiss. The way she melted against him, the way she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and her little sigh drove him to such a surprising degree of want that he had to pull back.

Just one kiss, and he'd been completely seduced. There was something about this woman, something he had to discover and know completely.

Yes, she was very much worth the extra thought.

"So, can we just go to Gomorrah?" Six murmured, "I know I'm being silly, but I really, really don't want to even see the Tops yet."

Vulpes sighed. Gomorrah was no place to take her.

"It's where we met, Fox," she pleaded, "we can go sit in a corner or something."

It wasn't where they met, but he couldn't correct her. And his name wasn't Fox.

"We could go to the Zoara club," he murmured, "I guess."

"What's that?" Six asked.

"It's the exclusive club at Gomorrah," Vulpes replied, "we'll be mostly away from prying eyes there."

She chirped an 'okay' and linked arms with him. Reluctantly, he led her toward the doors of Gomorrah, pointedly ignoring the women dancing outside. Vulpes opened the door for her, nodded at the doorman, and continued through.

"They didn't check us," Six murmured, glancing behind at the guards.

"I'm a trusted individual, as are any company I bring with me," he replied.

Vulpes ushered her around the casino, through the door to Brimstone and past the seating area for the stage. Before them was a door with another guard, who nodded and opened it for them. They made their way up a set of sticky stairs before arriving at the VIP club.

Vulpes was more than pleased to see that it was empty; the Omertas rarely made friends and having the whole club to himself was the benefit. Despite his reservations, he sat with Six one of the disease sponge couches.

A bartender sauntered up to them, his expression that of someone who smelled something awful. He took their orders quickly and ambled back to his spot, completely unhurried to do his task.

"So, what exactly happened while I was gone?" Vulpes murmured.

Six sighed and shook her head.

"I messed up," she replied, "I went to get the Chip for Mr. House and Benny and I talked. He doesn't know me at all, not even my name. To top it all off, he didn't give me the Chip, tricked me into staying so his bodyguards could shoot me, and ran off to Caesar's camp with the Chip."

"What makes you think he went there?" he asked. Vulpes tucked her hair behind her ear, ensuring that he could see her face as she answered.

"There's a bunker there that belongs to House," Six sighed, "and the Chip opens the door. He wouldn't tell me what's inside, but I guarantee that it's very important. If Benny somehow sneaks in there, he'll be able to mess up House's plans."

Vulpes watched as the bartender disappeared downstairs, mumbling and cursing about people not restocking properly.

"It's going to be okay, though," the Courier continued, "because things tend to work out somehow."

"I agree," he replied, "things might even work out better than you expect."

The bartender reappeared with their drinks, set them down, and wandered off without a word. Shaking his head, Vulpes took a sip of his vodka and fought a grimace when the bitter taste hit his tongue. It was definitely not top shelf. At least Six appeared to have a drink that was fine; she'd downed half of it in one gulp. The Courier snuggled in closer to him and put her head on his chest.

"So, how's your dad?" she asked.

"He's well," Vulpes replied, "at least, he seemed so when I visited. Some days are better than others. I'll have to go back again within the next day or so."

He watched her pout and chuckled to himself.

"I'm going to see if he wants to meet you," he murmured, "I want you to meet my family."

It was a risky thing to say, but Vulpes knew that Caesar would want to make some arrangements with her over the Chip when Benny arrived at the Fort unannounced. He had the utmost confidence that Benny wouldn't be able to sneak his way to the bunker, even with a stealthboy; if someone didn't see him, the hounds nearby surely would.

This was working out much nicer than he'd anticipated.

"I'd like that," Six chirped.

She took a gulp of her drink then leaned over, placed a slow, wet kiss on his jaw, and released an intentionally breathy sigh in his ear.

"So, you have been coming on to me," he murmured, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

"I've been what?" Six replied.

"It's a phrase," Vulpes explained, "it means that you've been not so innocently hinting at wanting to be sexual with me. I know what you were up to at Jacobstown and in Crocker's office."

"Jacobstown, yes," she giggled, "But the ambassador's office? I was scared."

"You had your hand in my lap," Vulpes chuckled.

"We were holding hands!" she protested, her mouth open in shock. "You are reading way too much into something that has no extra meaning."

Okay, so he was one out of two. He reached over to have more of his drink and regretted it as soon as he'd taken another gulp.

"How's your drink?" the Courier giggled.

"It's gross," he coughed, attempting to take another sip.

Vulpes couldn't do it today. The drink was indescribably awful, as if the vodka they'd used somehow went bad. Six reached over to try to take a sip of it, but he stopped her.

"Don't," he said, "I wouldn't wish that drink on an enemy." Vulpes surprised himself when his words came out in a slur.

"Lightweight," Six chuckled, downing the rest of her drink.

Vulpes watched as the bartender darted in to give the Courier another drink and disappeared quickly into the Omertas' office. And as the world shifted and began to take on a strange pitch, it hit him:

He'd been drugged.

It was bound to happen sometime. The Omertas were known for spiking drinks with sex drugs, and from his guess, he'd been given a screwball. It was the house special, a combination of vodka and med-x. But the bosses and higher-ups knew who he was and whom he worked for, including the Zoara bartender. Surely, they had to know that there were consequences for doing such a thing.

"Fox?" Six giggled, "Are you listening?"

How long had he been staring at the carpet? Vulpes blinked and looked at the Courier, surprised that her drink was already gone. He felt heavy as he stared into her eyes and leaned in because the world was tilting in her direction.

Vulpes tucked her hair behind her ear and reached over to steal a quick kiss, intending to pull away quickly. But she was warm and soft, and he had to stay. He smothered her lips with his, his tongue darting out to meet hers eagerly.

Their limbs began to tangle and Vulpes wondered where his mouth ended and hers began. His arms felt like wet laundry, heavy and waterlogged as he tried to help her crawl into his lap. Her hands ran through his hair and Vulpes was barely able contain a moan; his brain was in his pants, telling him that everything felt amazing.

Sucking on her neck, Vulpes' hands traveled back to grab handfuls of her ass. Six sighed and arched forward into his mouth's caresses. Experimentally, he allowed one of his hands to creep forward toward her thigh, his fingers inching downward underneath her dress.

The Courier froze; she was very aware of his hand.

A quick kiss on the cheek and a contented sigh was all the signal he needed to continue his trek. While Six wrapped her arms around him and put her head on his shoulder, his hand dipped inward. Fingers brushed against the damp seam of her underwear and she gasped in his ear. He moved the barrier to the side, caressing her exposed sex gently before delving his fingers between her folds.

A low grunt escaped his throat; she was absolutely soaking. Vulpes shifted in his seat, attempting to make more room for his manhood within the confines of his pants.

He traced around her entrance, his thumb circling around the outside of her nub, occasionally brushing past it. Six stilled as he quit teasing and slowly pushed a finger inside her. He flicked his thumb across her clit and she shuddered and gasped in his ear.

Vulpes began to slowly stroke her, noting that she still hadn't relaxed. Six was clenched around his finger, every muscle in her body taught while she whimpered. She'd forgotten her sexual experiences, and she was like a virgin in his arms. The thought made his dick throb.

He began to stroke faster, his thumb rubbing her clit roughly. With each breath the Courier took, she let out a gasping squeak. Vulpes' eyelids threatened to close; the world was in such an unimaginably euphoric film. Maybe she'd put her hands on him next.

Six relaxed for a brief second before shuddering and gasping. She buried her head against his shoulder as she came, her womanhood clenching and sucking on his finger.

"Oh, Fox," Six sighed. She collapsed against him as his fingers teased the aftershocks out of her body.

And usually it didn't matter, but with this woman, it was different. Everything had been effectively ruined for Vulpes; unwittingly, she tainted their moment with another man's name.

He removed his hands and Six shifted to recover herself. The Courier sat back, staring at him with a lazy grin on her flushed face.

"And you?" she whispered.

Vulpes grabbed her hand as it slid up his thigh, stopping her short of her goal.

"I'm fine," he murmured, "don't need it."

Six frowned and stared at him.

"Something's wrong," she stated, "because everything I've read gave me the impression that you'd want me to reciprocate if I was willing."

He smiled and laid his head back against the couch, his brain sloshing backward in his skull as he closed his eyes for a second. The room spun and Vulpes briefly wondered if the balcony on which they sat was about to fall.

"Don't panic," he murmured, "but I've been drugged."

The Courier's eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

"So that's why your drink tasted bad," she frowned, staring at the half-empty drink as if it'd attack her at any second.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Six continued, "I'd help you in any way that I can. Don't you trust me? I trust you."

Vulpes put his arms up in a defensive gesture.

"Let's get out of here," she sighed, "come back to the Lucky 38 with me tonight. I want to make sure you're safe."

He shook his head. It was too risky with House watching over them at every second.

"I'll be fine," Vulpes insisted, "it's just a drink that they serve here with vodka and med-x. Though I do not appreciate being drugged, nor do I find it humorous." He glared in the direction of the bosses' office. There'd be hell to pay for drugging a Legion agent.

Six climbed off of his lap and stood, helping him to his feet. They stumbled their way down the stairs, back through the casino, and out of the building.

Vulpes sighed as he breathed in the fresher air of the Strip. Turning to Six, he kissed her gently and buried his hands in her hair. He stared at the scar on her forehead for a moment, frowning. Her worried eyes stared at him, making Vulpes sigh and shake his head.

"Listen" he murmured, "I don't want you to tell anyone about what happened, not even your friends. It would be very bad for business if word got around."

The Courier nodded and snuggled in to him. Hunching over, Vulpes nuzzled the top of her head. For the first time ever, he didn't want to return to his work.

"I'll be back in a couple of days," he sighed.

Reluctantly, Vulpes let her go and gave her a quick kiss, fighting himself when she pouted.

"Be safe, Fox," Six murmured.

Vulpes shuffled back to his hotel room without her, all the while attempting to tell himself that it was the drink that made him so reluctant to leave Six.


	23. Chapter 23

A/n: A good bit of research had to go into this chapter, so I hope everyone enjoys. I appreciate every hit, favorite, alert, and such. Also, drop me a review if you like; even if it's a "hey I like this," it's still awesome to hear and very encouraging :)

* * *

><p>It was cozy where she was. There was someone next to her, warm and hard. He was snoring, and as Six squinted at the back of his head, she tried to piece together how she'd run into that Legion officer from Nipton and why he was in bed with her. She hoped Fox wouldn't find out.<p>

Six bolted upright in bed with a gasp, looked down, and saw that she was naked. Blinking, she stared at her revealed bedmate, attempting to process that he was Rex and not the kind, masked executioner. The cyberdog awoke with a start and stood on the bed, his tail wagging.

Pieces of a dream replayed in her mind as the dog began to chase his tail over the covers. She'd been traveling alone in the dark, and she ran into the officer from Nipton. He took her back to his campfire and then asked her why she was naked. But she didn't know why she was naked, and couldn't remember what happened that led to them having sex in her bed at the Lucky 38.

Rex crashed into her, his metal frame leaving scratches down her legs.

"Thanks, fuzzbutt," she murmured. That memory was just getting good, too.

He looked up at her with gentle eyes and Six knew that she couldn't stay mad. Scratching him behind his ears, she yawned, attempting to wake up more.

A knock sounded at the door and it opened a crack.

"I heard that you're up," Arcade called, "I'd like to change the bandage on your arm and have a quick talk."

"Come in," she replied, getting up from the bed.

The door opened all the way and the Doctor stepped into the room. As soon as he saw her, he shut the door.

"And you're naked," he sighed.

"Problem?" Six asked, shrugging.

"None," Arcade chuckled, "nothing I'm interested in anyway."

He set his equipment down on the coffee table, ignoring the dog in favor of sanitizing his hands.

"You might want to be more careful in the future," he added, "hanging out naked isn't necessarily a common practice."

Six nodded and mentally filed the information away for later.

Arcade unwrapped her arm and began to wipe it with an alcohol-soaked swab.

"So, Victor gave me a message for when you woke up," he started, "he said that Fox stopped by and told him to tell you that he was leaving and that he was okay. Mind telling me what that's about?"

Six sighed in relief. So the drink hadn't hurt Fox.

"Look," she murmured, "I'll tell you because I know you'll keep a secret. Veronica and Cass are kind of loud, and if Boone knew, he'd make some revenge attempt. But you have to promise me that you won't tell anyone."

Arcade frowned and dabbed gently at the wound.

"What happened?" he replied, "I can't make a promise if I know it's something that will hurt you or him in the long run."

It wasn't the answer Six was looking for, but she knew that he was just looking out for their best interests.

"When we were at Gomorrah last night," she answered, "Fox was given a drink with drugs in it. He thinks it was med-x. He's part of the management's club, though, so I don't know why they'd do that to him."

The Doctor shook his head as he applied fresh bandages to her arm, murmuring about the dangers of combining drugs and alcohol.

"If they wanted him dead," he murmured, "then that drink would have done him in. They probably saw you two together and thought that if they gave him a little something to make him happy, he'd be more inclined to partake in their other services."

"What do you mean by 'other services'?" Six asked.

"Prostitutes," Arcade sighed, "people who get paid for sex. Med-x is used to ease people's pain when they've had a major injury or surgery. It's generally abused because it gives the user a state of euphoria; places like Gomorrah use it to heighten sexual experiences for their customers."

That made sense; they wanted Fox to feel good and perhaps wanted to have him buy a prostitute's services so they could engage in one of those 'three ways' that her book talked about. But Six was sure that she wouldn't want to share Fox with another woman.

The Courier looked up to catch Arcade looking at her breasts.

"I thought you said you weren't interested," she quipped.

He chuckled to himself and shook his head.

"I'm not," Arcade sighed, "I was actually wondering if you get backaches."

"Yeah," she replied, "sometimes. Why?"

"Large breasts can give women backaches," he nodded, "I'm a doctor; I notice these things. Please, don't judge me."

Six giggled and shook her head; she wouldn't judge Arcade. Despite his quirks, he was a really good friend.

"Well," Arcade smiled, "your arm is almost healed, and we'll be able to remove the stitches soon, if you keep taking care of it. Also, as a Doctor, I suggest you put some clothes on before you join us at breakfast."

He left with a wink and Six laughed.

The day was starting out well; her arm was healing, Rex was feeling well, and she had another day to spend with her friends.

And Six was especially glad that Fox was okay. He was a special friend, and she'd hate to know that he got hurt because of her insisting on going to Gomorrah.

* * *

><p>No medical book Vulpes read mentioned that humans had a seasonal rut or anything of the sort. And he didn't believe it was so either.<p>

Still, it didn't explain why he missed Six immediately after leaving her in New Vegas. He felt restless; each step that took him closer to the Fort and further away from her made him ache with an indescribable longing.

He wanted to stay close to her, never to let her out of his sight; to lie with her for hours until they both collapsed from exhaustion. He wanted her with an absolute desperation and found himself thinking that his future was to include her or he'd be lonely forever. Vulpes was sure that it was some sort of hard-wired biological imperative that beaconed to him. Maybe he'd pegged himself wrongly. Maybe he was meant to mate for life and forsake all others.

Or maybe he just needed to have sex with her and get it out of his system. But something about that didn't ring true.

The sound of the blacksmith sharpening a gladius brought him out of his thoughts. He was home now; this was his Legion. Still, it didn't feel right without Six clinging to his arm.

Vulpes made his way past the arena and up the short hill that led to Caesar's tent. Stopping at the entrance, he braced himself. He could hear Caesar cursing and yelling.

They must have found Benny.

He gave the outdoor guard a quick nod and entered the tent.

"Vulpes!" Caesar called, "Come in. We have a guest this evening."

The Frumentarius chuckled and walked into the inner area. Benny knelt in front of Caesar's throne, bound tightly at the wrists, legs, and ankles. They hadn't taken the time to remove the Chairman's obnoxious coat. Benny turned around to look at the newcomer and froze.

"Fox?" he gasped.

Vulpes chuckled. If Benny had any delusions of getting out of his predicament alive, they just vanished upon seeing him. His identity was a state secret.

"Yes," Caesar laughed, "that is Vulpes Inculta, the leader of the Frumentarii, and the fourth most powerful man in the Legion. He's a master of disguise."

Vulpes gave a mock bow to the prisoner.

"You are good," Benny sighed, "you're the last guy anyone would guess with all the parties, booze, and women and such."

He narrowed his eyes at the Chairman, who was obviously trying his damnedest to get him in trouble. Caesar waved his hand dismissively.

"Frumentarii are allowed to do what is necessary to blend in," he said, "the fact that he was the last person you'd suspect speaks to his skill."

Caesar motioned for the guards to take Benny to the side of the tent. Crassius stepped forward and Benny cringed and attempted to back away, his attempts futile against the much larger man's strength. The Praetorian grew tired of the prisoner's struggling and one-handedly dragged him to the side of the tent, casting him aside like a worn teddy bear.

"So, you must be Brutus," Benny murmured.

Crassius replied with a plain 'no' and resumed his post while the prisoner murmured about humorless slavers.

"Vulpes," Caesar sighed, "please tell me you have good news. I'm in a bad mood with this whole 'attempted break-in' business."

Vulpes watched as Caesar turned a silver poker chip in his hands. A quick glance to the corner told him that Benny was watching the chip intently as well.

"That's the Platinum Chip in your hands," Vulpes nodded, "it opens that bunker that we've been trying to get into."

Benny cursed behind them and Caesar chuckled. Lucius regarded the chip with a cool glare, as if he did not trust it being near Caesar.

"So, I take it that you got this information from the Courier?" Caesar asked.

"Yes," Vulpes nodded, "Six says that House was going to have her retrieve the Chip from Benny. While attempting to negotiate its return, Benny double-crossed her and ran off, leaving his bodyguards to handle her."

"Did she get shot again?" Caesar asked.

"She did," Vulpes hissed, glaring at the Chairman.

It didn't matter that she pumped the bodyguards with enough lead that their faces were unrecognizable and that identifying them for next of kin was difficult. It didn't matter that she let everyone know what Benny did and that he was a wanted man on the Strip. Benny hurt Six; he would pay.

"Mister Chairman, you've angered a man well-versed in torture and interrogation," Caesar mused, "I wonder how that feels."

"We don't strike women unless they deserve it," he continued, "and from what I've heard, this woman knows her place well. That's an abuse of position, and it's something that we punish strongly."

Benny looked ill, but for Vulpes, it wasn't enough until the man bled for his crimes.

"Six told me that House wouldn't tell her what was in the bunker," Vulpes said, "House wants her to come here, go inside the bunker, and await further instructions."

"But she can't get here without an invitation," Caesar murmured, "and that means that we'll have a visitor."

"Lucius," he gasped.

"My Lord?" Lucius replied, arching a brow.

Caesar shifted on his throne and rested his chin in his hand.

"Nobody visits me," Caesar sighed, "ever."

"I visit whenever I can," Vulpes smiled.

Caesar scoffed and dismissed his words with a flourish of his hand.

"That's because you're a kiss ass," he groused.

"But seriously," Caesar continued, "we have a genuine issue here. Nobody visits us because we kill or re-purpose everyone. We need a way to let everyone know that a woman is allowed free passage in and out of our camp, and that she is not to be harassed."

"I could give her my one of my identification tags," Vulpes murmured, "that'd get people to leave her alone."

Everyone stared at him for a moment in disbelief; even Lucius looked surprised. Officers' wives wore their husbands' identification tags, ensuring that others would leave them alone. Vulpes knew the implications of his proposal, but he didn't quite mean it as they were assuming.

"If you're okay with that," Caesar sighed, "then that's fine. But it'll be interesting to see what happens when the poor girl finds out that everyone thinks you're engaged."

"That's what I've got," Vulpes shrugged, "I'm open to other suggestions as well."

"It'll work," he replied, "now, were you going to consider her?"

The look of terror must have shown on his face because Caesar began to laugh, the stoic Lucius chuckling behind him as well.

"You look like I've sentenced you to death," Caesar laughed.

"I haven't considered any such thing," Vulpes murmured, feeling his face heating up.

It was a lie, and Caesar scoffed at him as he saw right through it. Mercifully, his Lord let it slide and dismissed him.

Caesar was a man of towering intellect and intuition, and he saw something that Vulpes had been denying for an extended period of time. Despite his temper and occasional foul language, Caesar was the man who had uplifted countless individuals from their disgraced squalor. He was the man who had personally saved him from execution and groomed him into the temperate man he'd become.

When Caesar spoke, people listened. Even when Caesar made a casual observation, it was incredibly intuitive. So Vulpes would give Caesar's thought of marrying Six more than just a passing consideration, especially if his Lord took a liking to the Courier.

This was his family. He couldn't wait for Six to meet them.

* * *

><p>He had a woman, once, and it was enough to keep him away from them for good.<p>

It was pitiful how the poor thing wailed, begging not to be taken. Marcus wanted no part in it and couldn't even see the act through to the end. They didn't feel right under his hands, didn't taste right. Why would he bother with a creature that was his lesser? But apparently, Vulpes found much of what he desired in the arms of a woman, most notably in this Courier he'd met in Nipton. But the look of fear on his face at the mention of being betrothed brought Marcus concern. If this woman pleased Vulpes, then why not? Perhaps, if there were time, he'd speak with Vulpes on this matter.

Marcus was fond of nights like this, when Caesar met with Vulpes and Lucius for conversation. It wasn't often that he could follow their conversation, for the amount of knowledge that the three men possessed was absolutely staggering. And occasionally, the conversation would take such a drastic turn that even Lucius would become lost.

Marcus was enchanted as he watched Vulpes speak with theatrical gestures, his pale skin yellow in the torchlight. Vulpes had a handsome jaw, and an equally attractive neck. He swallowed as the Frumentarius bit his lip in thought, watching his Adam's apple dip downward in laughter. Everything the man did was laced with sexuality, and Marcus wondered if he even realized it.

To his left, the prisoner shifted, and Marcus eyed him carefully.

"I ain't going anywhere, pally," Benny groused, "so you don't have to keep twitching."

Crassius stood to the left of the prisoner, shifting his weight to the other foot.

"We do not twitch," Crassius rumbled.

"You twitch all the time," Marcus teased, "I've seen it."

His partner leveled a glare at him.

"You're the one twitching," Crassius hissed, "I've watched you twitch all night."

Crassius glanced over in Vulpes' direction, smirking. Marcus sighed, knowing he'd been caught again.

"They're so smart," Benny murmured, "that's the tragic part of this. They're brilliant and they're using it to do bad things."

"We do the right thing," Crassius said, "None of our people are addicts or thieves. Our land is free of bandits, and we do not oppress the people with taxes. Everyone knows their place; everyone has a purpose."

The prisoner just shook his head and looked at the ground.

Marcus glanced over at Crassius, fighting the urge to grin. He looked like Mars himself in the light of the brazier, the orange glow making his reddish hair stand out like a flame in contrast to his skin. Soon, their shift would change, and they'd have the time to do quiet, illegal things to each other in their tent.

Marcus turned his attention back to his task; he was a guard first, and a lover, second.

"So," Caesar yawned, "Anything else you need to tell me?"

Vulpes bit his lip and stared at the ground.

"I was going to wait," he murmured, "but I realize that there is no real way of breaking this news to you in a delicate manner."

"When I went to Gomorrah the other night," he continued, "the Omertas drugged me."

All eyes were on Vulpes in a second.

"They drugged you?" Caesar questioned. The vein on his forehead popped out; he was ready to yell at any second.

Vulpes replied with a mute nod.

"They agree to do business with us, then drug our representative," Caesar hissed, "every fucking step of the way, the Omertas have been incompetent at best, backstabbing at worst. But this, this is a slap in the face. When we take the Strip, I will throw them at the Legate's mercy."

Marcus smirked; the Legate had no mercy. The Omertas would die very slowly and painfully for double-crossing the mighty Caesar. He couldn't think of a more fitting punishment for their betrayal. How could they think that drugging a Legion agent would be wise?

A set of fresh guards wandered in to relieve them, knowing better than to question why Caesar was in such a furious state. Before leaving, Marcus turned to the prisoner.

"Goodbye, sweetheart," he winked, chuckling at Benny's horrified response.

Marcus made his way out of the tent, ambling along slowly so as to hopefully run into Vulpes. He wasn't disappointed; a set of very soft footsteps sounded behind him.

"So, drugged?" Marcus questioned as Vulpes caught up to him.

The Frumentarius sighed and shook his head.

"The audacity of such an act escapes me," he murmured, "though I have a suspicion as to why they did it."

"Drug abuse is rampant on the Strip," Vulpes continued, "and the Omertas use drugs to their advantage in business. My guess is that they wanted to force me to try some med-x so that they could open negotiations to legalize substance abuse."

"Pathetic," Marcus sighed, "Did it harm you?"

"Thankfully, no," Vulpes replied, "but combining alcohol and med-x can be lethal if it's not done carefully. And a bartender is not a doctor. The most frustrating part was having to keep my cover by not confronting them for their insolence."

Vulpes was so nonchalant about the whole thing, but it concerned Marcus. Was Vulpes being prideful, or was his trust in Mars so great that he felt at ease? Marcus wasn't sure; the Frumentarius was not known to be especially pious.

"So," Marcus smirked, "this Courier."

Vulpes' stride faltered. Talk of this woman was apparently more of a concern to him than being drugged.

"What about her?" Vulpes murmured.

"You're going to do something very serious, giving her your tag," Marcus said.

A grunt was his response.

"Do you want to keep her?" Marcus asked.

"Well, yeah," Vulpes sighed.

"What if I saw her and wanted to marry her?" he pressed.

Vulpes stopped in his tracks and stared at him.

"I'd kill you," he hissed.

"There's your answer," Marcus chuckled, "marry her."

The Frumentarius looked like he was ill.

"If she turns out to be a shrew, then just sell her off," Marcus shrugged.

He gave Vulpes a quick pat on the shoulder before wandering off to his tent for the night. It wasn't difficult to find; Crassius waited outside, almost as tall as the supporting poles. Together, they ducked into the tent.

"Eventful day," Marcus sighed, "it's good that Lupa caught the intruder when she did, or we would have Mars knows what coming out of that bunker."

"And we'd rip them limb from limb," Crassius grinned.

Marcus glanced around them for sources of light before sneaking a quick kiss. Sometimes, everything set him on edge; an errant silhouette could expose their affair. He sat back and shook his head.

"I know it's part of the job," Marcus murmured, "and Vulpes is trained to handle such things, but him being drugged is upsetting. It's undignified."

Crassius put his arm around him and stayed silent.

"I mean," he continued, "this is the man who knows about us, and he's not treated us any differently. Had it been anyone else, we would have been sentenced to death. Vulpes continues to befriend us, despite the fact that we're unnatural."

"And you worry for his safety," Crassius nodded, "reasonable."

Maybe he was worried, which brought him pause. Worry was an undesirable trait.

"But Mars protected him," Crassius murmured, "you have to remember that."

"I do," he replied, "and I am thankful. But it could happen again, and then what? The Fates are fickle."

Crassius sighed next to him; Marcus could tell that he was trying to be patient.

"Then we go to the priestesses tomorrow," Crassius replied, "and have them light a fire for him. Mars will see it and do as he sees fit."

Marcus shook his head because their offering would be impure. Wouldn't that anger Mars? There were so many things one had to remember in order to make a proper and acceptable sacrifice.

"We'll abstain tonight," Crassius continued, "remember, it is not the act of sacrifice that appeases the gods alone, because excessive sacrifice causes anger. It is the intent of the sacrifice that counts. So tomorrow, we will offer thanks and ask for continued protection."

Crassius was right about everything while Marcus usually panicked. It made him wonder how he stayed with him for so long, but somehow, they worked well together.

"Your worries are legitimate," Crassius murmured, "but I promise that it'll work out."

And there it was; it was the kindness that had it come from any other man, he'd have viewed it as weakness. Marcus sighed and snuggled into the embrace of his forbidden lover.

Perhaps they were this way for a reason; he'd never understand fate.

* * *

><p>Six yawned and draped her legs lazily over the arms of her chair, earning a disapproving glare from Arcade. Rolling her eyes, the Courier turned in her seat to sit properly. It had been days since she'd seen Fox, and she was growing increasingly restless.<p>

There was seriously nothing to do. She already had a talk with the King about Rex and had even been tempted to stop in to talk to Ambassador Crocker just so there was something to do. Six didn't want to sit around waiting for answers anymore, but she had no idea where to begin. After all, who would be openly involved with the Legion? She certainly hadn't heard any of involvement or rumors of involvement with anyone.

Six wasn't even sure which one of her friends she could talk to about getting Legion contact. Veronica had the politest opinion of them, which amounted to her calling them 'the silliest band of marauding rapists and slavers this side of the Mojave'. She wouldn't even dare to talk to Boone about them.

Victor wheeled up to the kitchen doorway, a package in his hands.

"Miss Courier," he called, "I'd come in and hand this to you, but I can't fit through the door. I reckon this suite wasn't made for securitrons."

Six chuckled, padded her way over to him, and took the package. It was light, the paper bending with its contents. There was a note tucked underneath the plain string that held it together. Curious, Six placed the package on the table and unfolded the note.

It was from Fox; he wanted to see her at the Ultra Luxe tomorrow night and provided something for her to wear. The note was to the point, the handsome characters therein all slanted in a uniform direction, making the Courier wonder if he'd written the note carefully or quickly.

"From Fox?" Veronica questioned.

Six nodded and pushed the note in the Scribe's direction.

"Nice handwriting," Veronica murmured, "I wonder who taught him." Arcade peered over her shoulder and lifted an eyebrow at the note, letting out an 'mhm'.

Six untied the strings to the package and loosened the paper. Crimson fabric slipped out of the paper and the Courier had to catch it quickly as it tumbled out from being folded. It was a beautiful red dress.

"And this is the date where he'll try to fuck you," Cass laughed. She tilted her chair backward on two legs as she took a sip of moonshine.

"It's just a date," Veronica giggled, "and such a pretty dress." She stared at the dress for a moment as Six held it up against her body. "Yeah," she sighed, "you're probably right, Cass."

Six felt her face heat up as memories of what they'd done at Gomorrah replayed through her head. Was she really ready for that?

"It's nice," Boone murmured, "but those are Legion colors."

Cass dismissed his words with a wag of her bottle.

"That's like saying I've got Legion hair," the redhead declared, "you're just playing big brother because you don't want some guy all over her, even if you like said guy."

Six glanced between the two and frowned. Boone was lucid today, as lucid as he'd been when she met him at Novac. There was something about the Strip that drove him to drink more; perhaps it was the memories of Carla. She felt bad keeping him there, but at the same time, she didn't have anything to do, unless she went out looking for work. And Six sure as hell wasn't going to tell Boone to go home, where his only company would be his gun and his bottle. It was a dangerous combination.

Six looked up from the dress to meet Arcade's gaze. He smiled at her.

"Does it make you happy?" he asked.

She nodded and smiled.

"Then that's all that matters," Arcade replied.

Something about his words didn't feel right to Six, but she agreed anyway. Perhaps being happy was all that mattered.


	24. Chapter 24

A/n: Thanks everyone for such thoughtful reviews, hits, favorites and the like. I really appreciate each and every one of you, even those who lurk :)

Warning: There is sexual content in this chapter, though it's nothing strange enough to require a specific warning.

* * *

><p>Men. They never knew their girlfriend's true measurements, even if they were incredibly experienced.<p>

Veronica shook her head as she looked at Six wearing the dress that Fox had given her. She looked like an upscale whore. But Veronica had to give him credit; she knew enough about pre-war styles to know that it was an actual dress, and not some skimpy nightwear that many people assumed was a dress.

Six was hot, smoking hot in this dress. A little too much boobs and butt for Veronica's taste, but everyone was different. And judging by how Fox could never keep his eyes off of Six, he probably wouldn't be able to sit comfortably all night with her in the dress.

"Try this," Veronica smiled. She held out an ivory ribbon to the Courier, surprised when Six shook her head.

"Fox doesn't like my hair up," she replied, "He pulls the tie out if it's up."

Veronica sighed and shook her head.

"We've got to put something with it," she said, "a necklace or a bracelet or something."

They were lucky to have found a pair of slightly large heels in the closet. Then again, it was safe to say that scavengers hadn't picked through the Lucky 38.

"Here," Veronica gasped, "give me your foot."

Six put her foot in the Scribe's lap and Veronica hurriedly tied the ribbon in a bow around her ankle.

"Cute," she smiled, "like an ankle garter."

The Courier stared at her ankle for a while and wiggled it around like a dog that was unsure of its new collar.

"It's quirky and cute," Veronica said, "just like you. I think you should keep it like that."

Six walked over to the nearby mirror and stared at her reflection, turning every way possible to see how she looked. The dress floated with every turn and Veronica sighed; this was the kind of dress she'd always wanted. And truthfully, she couldn't imagine how many caps it cost.

So, either Fox cared about Six, or really, really wanted to get laid. Veronica hoped it was the first. Regardless, she'd support the Courier who took her on, hoping to make sure that Six didn't make the same mistakes that she did with Christine.

* * *

><p>They sat in a private corner of the Ultra Luxe, sipping on their drinks. The crimson gown that Vulpes had given Six was too tight; he'd greatly underestimated her measurements. But it was too tight in all the right places; the strings of her halter looked ready to snap. It looked incredible on her, but he wagered that it'd look even better on the floor. And he desperately wanted her to follow him back to his room. He'd prefer it if she left the shoes and ribbon around her ankle on while she clawed at his back, those spiked heels digging into his ass.<p>

Vulpes had to shake the thought from his head. This was business; pleasure could come later.

Tonight, he'd give her the mark that was to provide her safe conduct to Caesar's tent. Such an act would be so very intimate; she'd be wearing his identification the whole way. He'd also be revealing his true identity to her. He knew she'd accept him regardless of his affiliation.

Vulpes leaned over, hooking her chin with his finger. He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers before making full contact. In the next instant, his tongue darted out, seeking entrance to her mouth. Six complied and their tongues darted around each other in a sensual duel.

Goddamn, she was a quick study.

He broke off the kiss before it became too much. Leaning back, he grinned when he saw her flushed face.

"I want to try something," Six murmured.

It was all the warning he got before her hand drifted down to fondle him through his pants.

"Wha-" he gasped, "What are you doing?" They were in public, for Christ's sake. Gomorrah was one thing, but this wasn't that disgusting, sticky hellhole.

That was when her head disappeared under the table.

Vulpes hadn't been that turned on before, but when he felt her begin to unzip his pants, he slammed to full attention.

"You're really going to do this?" he whispered, trying to keep his breathing under control.

"Men like this, right?" Six countered. She reached into his pants to stroke him and he offered no further protest.

He'd be a terrible liar if he said he didn't want it, even if they were in full view of others.

In a second, she freed him and gave his throbbing manhood a tentative lick. A pant forced its way past his lips as she drew him into her mouth, her wild hair pooling in his lap. Six began to bob her head, sucking as she went down each time.

It took all of his effort to not thrust upward; a gag signaled that doing so would be a very bad idea. The last thing he wanted was a lap full of warm vodka. He knew it wasn't easy for a woman to get her mouth around him and that made him appreciate Six's volunteering all the more.

She took a break for a moment, running her tongue along the underside of his shaft then swirling it around his sensitive head. Vulpes bit back a groan when she continued.

Her hand moved to grip the base of his inflamed cock as she increased her pace. Across the room, a couple stared at them, whispering among themselves. Vulpes smirked and moved the mass of black hair that obstructed their view. That'd give them something to whisper about. He'd be lying if he said that he wasn't proud of his dick.

Knowing that others were watching and whispering was an unexpected turn on. Without warning, he exploded into the Courier's mouth, reveling in the way that her swallowing rolled her tongue along the bottom of his cock. And while she sucked him into softness, Vulpes let out a contented sigh. At least he'd be satiated enough to concentrate on conversing with her for the remainder of the evening.

While Six took another sip of her drink, Vulpes glanced toward the couple that saw everything. He chuckled when the man gave him a thumbs up; the woman accompanying him slapped him on the arm. At least they wouldn't cause a ruckus over what they'd seen.

It was incredibly dishonest to get Six buzzed before telling her what he needed to say. But he was nervous; it was a feeling that he'd not had in a long time.

"I have a solution to your Legion problem," he murmured.

Six stared at him, her expression hopeful.

"And before I tell you everything," Vulpes continued, "I want you to know that it started out with you as just business, but it's grown into something unexpected. I've grown fond of you, and in my line of work, attachments can be incredibly dangerous."

She nodded mutely.

"The eyes of the mighty Caesar are upon you," he said, "and he seeks to have your audience. Benny has been captured at the Fort; the Platinum chip is in our possession."

"Our?" Six asked. Her eyes were wide.

"The first time we met," Vulpes murmured, "you carried your pack up the road to Nipton, unafraid of the smoke and fire until you saw the crucified. We both wore masks at the time."

Still, more silence; it was unnerving.

"I am Vulpes Inculta," he continued, "and I am the greatest of Caesar's Frumentarii. I've relayed to my Lord everything you've done of political importance, be it big or small."

"Your position?" she asked.

The Courier could out him at any second, and if she did, protocol dictated that he'd have to kill her, and then kill himself if he risked capture.

"I am fourth in the line of succession," Vulpes replied. Six nodded silently.

"I'll listen to what Caesar has to say," She frowned, "but you know that this puts me in direct conflict with my friends, Fox."

Six shook her head.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, "not Fox. What was it again?"

He was surprised by the sudden wave of sourness that settled into the pit of his stomach. It wasn't likely that she'd remember his name after just learning it, but it hurt nonetheless.

"Vulpes," he replied, "Vulpes Inculta."

His disappointment must have shown on his face because she reached over to grab his hand, her thumb caressing the top.

"Vulpes," Six murmured, "my short-term memory isn't the greatest sometimes."

He tucked her hair behind her ear and gave her a quick kiss.

"I have something for you," Vulpes smiled, "It will guarantee your safe conduct through our lands. When you wear this, Legionaries will know that you are not to be bothered and will allow you to come and go as you please."

Removing the tag from his pocket, Vulpes held it out for the Courier, chuckling at the look of wonder on her face.

"It is the Mark of Caesar," he continued, "reserved for officers and Frumentarii. Each has his own mark, and they are important, especially for the identification of Frumentarii. This mark is mine."

As Vulpes placed the pendant around Six's neck, he tried not to think of how right it felt.

* * *

><p>Six didn't know him anymore.<p>

Their friendship had been based on a lie, and the Courier found herself blindsided by his true identity. But the pieces of the puzzle fit so well. It explained the scars on his arms, the way he made sure that he didn't get drunk, and an assortment of other odd things about him.

So Vulpes was the man she'd dreamed about the other night, and he and Fox were one and the same. He did say that it'd started out as business but it turned into something more. Six was a little worried about what he meant by 'something more', especially since he was giving her his ID tag. If he was supposed to be the top Legion agent, then why was he so nervous? She knew he was hiding something.

"Okay," Six smiled, "So tell me about yourself."

There was a soft smile on his face; his sad eyes reminded her of when Rex sought her out for a scratch behind the ear.

"I was from a small tribe in Utah," he replied, "they were conquered when I was very young, and then I began training. By the time a boy is fifteen, he is given the opportunity to become a recruit, and I wasn't an exception. Within a year, I rose to the rank of decanus."

"A year?" the Courier asked, "what kind of rank is that? Is that normal?"

She leaned in, intent on his answer. This was much more interesting than the lies of his cover story.

"It's not unheard of," Vulpes replied, "but at the same time, it's not exactly common. A decanus is one who has seen many fights and has been promoted to be in charge of a group of eight. Essentially, they're squad leaders. You can tell a decanus' experience by the feathers on his helmet; new decanii will have black and red, while veterans will have black, white and red."

"So how did you make a name for yourself?" Six murmured, "you had to have done something right to get recognized."

"It wasn't what I did right," he chuckled, "but what I did wrong that earned me a place among the Frumentarii. In a fight where we were outnumbered, I saw a hole in the enemy tribe's defenses. I exploited this weakness and my squad captured the tribe's chieftain. Even though we won, I disobeyed my orders, and that is an action worthy of crucifixion. So I was scourged, and fully ready to die when the order came from Caesar himself that I was to be brought before him. From there, he placed me in the Frumentarii where I climbed the ranks to become the head of the branch."

Six nodded slowly; it was a lot to take in. This wasn't just some agent, or even a top agent. She'd caught the eye of someone extremely important, even more important than Ambassador Crocker. But Vulpes wasn't full of himself about his work; he stated the bare facts without an inflated opinion. His story seemed extraordinary and it was apparent that Vulpes was a prodigy among the Legion.

"You cannot tell anyone my true identity," he murmured, "I cannot stress how serious this is. Don't even whisper it to Rex. If you do, I will be forced to kill you, and then I would kill myself."

"What?" Six gasped, "Your secret's safe, but you can't be serious."

She'd never seen him look so fiercely, and in an instant, the Courier knew that he wasn't bluffing.

"It is our way," Vulpes nodded, "if ever my cover is compromised, I am to kill whoever I can that I suspect knows. I would then kill myself before facing capture. The same is expected of recruits. When we say 'true to Caesar', it isn't just some sort of phrase; it is an oath. Truthfully, nobody has ever learned my identity and lived. That is the amount of trust that I've placed in you."

"I trust you, Six," he continued, "You're one of four that I fully trust. And truthfully, you're the one I've been waiting for; I just didn't expect that we'd happen across each other so soon."

The look in his eyes was so serious; his sad eyes trying to tell her something that refused to come out of his mouth. She wasn't sure about this, didn't quite understand how she could trust him in return when their friendship had been based entirely on his lies.

Six told herself to suck it up; it didn't change how he felt about her. The Legion had a reputation for being unfriendly, and Vulpes showed her nothing but kindness. He'd even risked everything by following her to the Ambassador's office to give her emotional support.

They both noticed the man approaching them at the same time, his cowboy hat and scraggly, gray goatee foreign among the crowd of clean-shaven gamblers. Next to him was a beautiful, middle-aged woman; the woman looked at Vulpes and her face turned red. In the next second, she gave Six a strange look. Behind the couple, a boy tottered; Six wasn't sure if he was closer to her age, or an early-bloomed teen. He glanced around the place as if it stunk, sneering at Vulpes and giving the Courier a once-over. A pair of stony-faced guards flanked them.

"Hurricane Heck," Vulpes smiled, "How's it going?"

The man returned his grin and gave him a handshake.

"Wonderful, Mr. Fox," he laughed, "just wonderful. I've never had a sharper set of guards. Excellent manners as well."

"As I've said before," Vulpes replied, "our training is rigorous; I've been through it myself. Sharpness is only a small part of the program."

Vulpes introduced the man as Heck Gunderson, a brahmin baron. Accompanying him were his wife, Victoria, and his son, Ted. Six couldn't begin to guess the awkward subtext with Victoria; the woman appeared more awkward and flustered than Veronica when her words ran off on her.

The guards looked confused for a moment as they stared at the pendant Six wore. They exchanged a quiet glance before schooling their expression back into one of indifference.

The Gundersons sat down with them, and Six fought the urge to panic. Those guards were Legion agents, too. She had to be so careful that she didn't accidentally expose them.

"So, how long have you been together?" Victoria asked. She pinned Vulpes with her gaze.

"Not very long," he replied, "we kind of just fell into it."

The woman seemed slightly satisfied with his answer.

"That's wonderful," Mrs. Gunderson smiled, "Where did you meet?"

"Nipton," Six chirped. She knew she'd given the wrong answer when one of the guards gave her a funny look.

"We were both uninterested at the time," Vulpes chuckled, "and ended up re-acquainting ourselves a few weeks ago on the Strip."

"Nipton got wasted," Mr. Gunderson frowned, "Legion came through and crucified the lot of them. It's good you weren't caught up in that mess."

"Legion," Victoria murmured, "such a distasteful lot."

Vulpes leaned over to kiss the Courier on the cheek.

"A pack of queers," he purred.

Six remained silent as the guards chuckled to themselves. Honestly, she just wanted everyone to leave so she could be alone with Vulpes; instead, the Courier put on her company manners, smiled, and nodded.

* * *

><p>It was sunrise and the sheer glory of God's creation was spread out before him, reminding him that he was only a small part of God's infinite plan. Times like these were the best, when the camp was about to awaken; he could have time alone with the Creator.<p>

Joshua Graham still shook from the pain of his bandages being changed. This was his cross to bear. Some would say that it was just punishment for the things he'd done, but he'd beg to differ. It wasn't enough; his crimes were unforgivable. Daily, he threw himself before the face of God, begging for forgiveness.

"O Lord, have mercy on me," he murmured, "for I am a man of unclean lips and an unclean heart. I have sinned against you and your creation and accept your divine punishment for my actions."

Graham's hands ached and he wondered if he'd be able to turn the pages of his Bible unaided that day. Sometimes he felt like the bandages were all that kept his body together.

"I lament all that I have done," he continued, "and ask that you grant strength to the NCR and give them your favor in the upcoming battle. I beg you, O Lord, to destroy that which I created."

He wished for their death, not for himself, but for all the citizens of New Canaan that were senselessly slaughtered on his behalf. He would not be satisfied until all that he created was destroyed, purged in the fire of battle.

The White Legs would be first. Every last warrior of theirs would fall, and Salt-Upon-Wounds would know the consequences for harming his family.


	25. Chapter 25

A/n: Thank you, everyone for the hits, favorites, alerts and reviews. It's awesome that so many people are interested in my story :)

* * *

><p>She set off early the next morning, eager to possibly catch up with Vulpes on the road. Her friends thought nothing of her leaving; Six lied to them and told them that she was going to meet Fox's dad.<p>

It was unusually cold as she made her way out of Freeside's gate and down the road. Behind her, Rex tottered along, his tail droopy. The Courier hoped that he'd be okay to make the journey.

After making sure she had a reasonable distance between herself and people, Six checked her pip-boy and marked her destinations; Novac and Cottonwood Cove. She figured that it was reasonable paranoia to not want anyone to see where she was going.

She followed the crumbling road toward her marker, passing by burnt-out buildings and a farm that her pip-boy called the NCR Sharecropper farms. Stalks of corn grew behind a guarded fence, and the Courier pondered its meaning. Whom was the food for? Did they sell it to the people? She passed by a bored guard, the woman making brief eye contact with her before sighing and crossing her arms. Six supposed she could ask, but she opted to continue down the road. She could either stand around and talk with NCR, or she could go meet Caesar.

Six continued toward her Novac marker, ignoring where the road led and opting to take the most direct path possible. It would be quicker that way.

She walked around the side of McCarran and frowned when a mountain with a gigantic, white bowl at its peak stood in her way. Quickly, the Courier consulted her map, sighing.

If she headed directly east and swam just a little way, she'd be right at the Fort. But Vulpes expressly told her to go to Cottonwood Cove first in order to get a ride to the Fort. Six knew she could swim; maybe there was something in the water. Maybe someone would see her. Whatever reason he had, the Courier figured that she ought to listen to him since he was very smart and had her best interests in mind.

Six looked at the mountain again. Going left appeared to be shorter, so she altered her path slightly. Soon, the 188 Trading Post came into view and she smiled, remembering that it was where she and Veronica met.

From what Dr. Henry told her, she'd never get her old memories back. She'd been sad from that thought for a while, but Six realized that she could make new, good memories with her friends. And if she thought about it that way, it kept her from being sad.

A dried-up lake came into view and Six immediately dropped down to sneak past it on the road. Something about it didn't feel right; her suspicions were confirmed when she saw ants bustling around in the middle of the bed. There were so many of them that the Courier knew it wasn't the time to become frustrated about somehow knowing what to do. In this instance, she was glad that she did.

It was eerily quiet as Six picked her way along the patchy remains of highway 95, and the Courier sighed as she reached the end of the dried lake. Cresting a hill, she was greeted with the unmistakable sight of Novac's dinosaur.

Six glanced at her pip-boy; she'd arrived ahead of schedule. Smiling, the Courier trotted up to the hotel, waved at the people in the courtyard and bounded up the stairs to her room. A cool rush of air greeted her as she opened the door, allowing Rex to come in.

The Courier ate a quick lunch in silence before tossing some strings of brahmin jerky at the dog. She smiled as he ate; apparently, the warmer weather was more comfortable for his old brain. Satisfied, Six stood and said goodbye to the room. If they left soon, they might be able to make it by sundown.

Wordlessly, she walked down the stairs and out of the gate, hoping that nobody would stop her on her way out. Her pip-boy told her that Cottonwood was southeast of her; if she didn't walk on the roads, she'd shave off quite a bit of time.

Six set off in the immediate direction of her marker, the town growing smaller behind her. Dinky the Dinosaur disappeared over a hill and the Courier was alone in the wasteland once again.

She rounded a bend and frowned. A large hill loomed in her direct path; it was as if the Mojave wanted her to keep to the roads. Rusted cars littered the highway. There were too many places to hide.

Shots rang out and the Courier hissed, taking cover behind a rock. Rex barked and darted toward the attackers. If she wanted to be shot, Six could attempt to locate them.

Or, she could take their cover away.

Six whistled for Rex to return and shot at the cars. They began to smoke, forcing the attackers out of hiding. Having nowhere to hide, the raiders rushed toward her position. She didn't bother to get a good look at them and fired. Each shot hit its mark, the target crumbling to the ground.

The cars exploded quickly afterward and Six chuckled; she knew that was going to happen.

Smiling, the Courier approached the unlucky attackers. Three bodies littered the ground– two males, and one female. Her eyes widened when she saw the brain-panned woman's armor.

It was super cute. She had to have it.

"So wrong," Six whispered, "what I am doing is gross and I know everyone does it but it's wrong."

Somehow, she knew she had to take it off quickly before the corpse pooped itself. The Courier deftly removed the pants, congratulating herself that they were clean. Next came the top part of the armor, with all of its metal spikes and fasteners. Six dragged her prize behind a rock and quickly undressed to try it on.

The Courier hopped up and down, the leather pants slowly inching their way up her behind. If they could just make it past her hips, then she'd be able to wear them.

"Skinny bitch," she hissed, "I'm sick of wearing man pants." Six glared in the direction of the dead woman.

With a final tug, the pants were on and the Courier turned her head to try to look at them from the back. She sighed; they were so tight that the seam was separating her butt. At least they wouldn't chafe like that.

With a huff, Six grabbed the top and steeled herself. It took a quick yank and a few hops before it slid into place. Next came the metal hip and shoulder fastenings; thankfully, these were adjustable. Six slid her feet into the still-warm boots; at least those fit properly. The Courier looked down at her new armor and frowned, wishing that she had a mirror. She supposed she looked passable. The leather and metal would at least be better protection than a top and a pair of beat up men's pants.

Bagging her old clothes, Six took off down the winding path toward her destination. The ridges above her were silent and she crept along quietly, almost expecting NCR sharpshooters overhead. Cliff faces disappeared abruptly and left the Courier exposed on the far side of the Legion camp.

Apparently, she sneaked up on the place. Six made sure that the Mark of Caesar was visible as she walked into the clearing, her hands up where the patrolling guards could see them. After all, it was almost dark.

The entire camp froze when the saw her. Maybe her new armor looked that bad.

* * *

><p>Canyon Runner couldn't help but be bewitched along with his fellows. A chorus of over twenty 'Ave' drifted toward the woman who showed her hands non-threateningly.<p>

Aurelius of Phoenix sighed and hopped down from his post, breaking Canyon Runner from the woman's bewitching spell.

"You must be the Courier that we were expecting," the Centurion called. He approached the beaming female and grabbed the pendant that hung from her neck. They exchanged quiet words that Canyon Runner couldn't hear, his superior regarding the pendant with a serious look on his face. Aurelius drew the woman's hair away from her forehead to reveal two bullet-wound scars; he appeared almost unnerved by their location.

"Canyon Runner," the Centurion ordered, "escort our guest to Cursor Lucullus."

He quickly saluted his superior and looked at the woman, ready to carry out his orders.

"Hi, I'm Six," she smiled. Long, black hair tumbled across her shoulder as she tilted her head at him.

"Canyon Runner," he replied, "keeper of the new captures."

They began to walk toward the docks, Six's strange half-machine dog clattering behind them.

"Whose mark is that?" he asked.

"Vulpes Inculta," Six replied, smiling, "he gave it to me the other night."

So this was the woman that Vulpes seemed interested in. It appeared that he moved quickly to claim this one as his, and Canyon Runner couldn't blame the man. The woman was of stunning beauty, a match for the messenger of Mars. He couldn't begin to think of a price that a creature like this would fetch.

"You do well to know your place," Canyon Runner nodded, "I have not heard of a dissolute that did."

"Dissolute?" Six asked.

"Those who are not us," he answered, "those lacking in morals. Profligates are one step below the dissolute; they are those without any morals. They are those who fight against us. I am surprised that you weren't told something so basic."

The woman huffed for a moment and shook her head.

"I just learned Vulpes' real name the day before," she sighed, "and as he was telling me more about the Legion, we were interrupted. This undercover business must get very frustrating for him sometimes."

"It is his job," Canyon Runner intoned, "a true man of the Legion does his duty and doesn't question."

"And a woman of the Legion?" she asked.

"The same," he replied, "a woman's primary role is to serve."

"Like helping people?" Six nodded, "I like that. Helping people is very important."

She trotted alongside him, her unnerving eyes fixated on the docks. Six was short and curvaceous, perfectly built to bear children. From the brief conversation he'd had with the Courier so far, Canyon Runner could see what Vulpes meant when he declared her to be different. There was an aura of feminine virtue that this woman exuded.

The tone of her voice was quiet and pleasing to the ear, her words not impudent or harsh. When speaking, she made eye contact at appropriate times and kept her expression demure. Those things, coupled with Vulpes' observation on her servile attitude, made this woman an incredible anomaly among the dissolute.

And as he bade the Courier safe travels at the dock, Canyon Runner couldn't help but send a prayer to Mars, that he might encounter a red-haired version of Six when they conquered Vegas.

* * *

><p>Vulpes couldn't be still.<p>

He knew that Six could generally handle herself. After all, she'd started off traveling alone and was able to keep herself relatively safe. But all he could remember was that confused, air-headed creature that he'd met in Nipton. She'd been fearless, sidling up to him and showing him all of her personal information. Six was the kind of girl who'd pet a yao-guai if it looked fluffy enough.

"For fuck's sake," Caesar groaned, "go for a walk. Your twitching is making my head worse."

Vulpes paused, unsure if he ought to mention Dr. Henry or wait until the doctor had proven himself with replacing Rex's brain. And as Caesar cursed and sulked back to his room, the Frumentarius opted to wait. Sighing, Vulpes left the tent, knowing that a walk was not going to help him.

In fact, a walk would make it worse. He'd look around for Six, even if he were sure that she wouldn't be there until the late evening. It wasn't reasonable to expect her to make similar time as him.

Vulpes walked toward his tent, intent on grabbing his hood and goggles. He felt the urge to hide his face; hopefully, he could hide the worry. Pushing the tent flap aside, Vulpes removed the goggles from their peg and put them on. The world was gray as his fingers brushed against the fur that hung on the next peg. He grabbed the cloak and settled it on his head, the familiar weight providing a strange sense of comfort.

Vulpes still found himself walking toward the gate of the Fort. He passed a row of crosses on the ridge that obscured the entrance.

"And then I thought it was super cute," a familiar voice chirped, "so I had to have it."

"That's foolish, woman," a guard groused, "armor is not meant for fashion."

Vulpes rounded the corner to see a gate guard take extra care to attempt to search his woman's skin-tight leather pants, Rex waiting patiently next to her. He drew his goggles back to rest them on the dog's head, prepared to startle the guard out of what he was doing. But Six saw him first. His heart stopped when she ran away from the guards toward him.

She was going to be killed that way.

As soon as the Courier leaped into his arms, Vulpes turned them around so that his back was toward the guards. They'd think twice about shooting in their direction with him blocking her from their view.

"Don't run off on them until they say you can go," he hissed, "you could have gotten killed so easily just now."

Six pouted at him as if she'd been struck and his heart softened.

"Listen," he sighed, "it's different here. We've got a lot of enemies, so everyone who isn't one of us has all of their weapons removed. You can't run around like you're wild here."

She nodded silently and he desperately wanted to give her a reassuring kiss. But they weren't on the Strip and the rules of social interaction changed; he didn't want anyone presuming weakness about him and the woman he loved.

Oh.

The force of the realization that hit him was almost overwhelming, terrifying him on the spot. Vulpes loved this woman. And before she got too deep into Legion politics, he'd have to tell her. Six looked up at him, so innocent and trusting. The seducer had been seduced.

He gave the Courier a halfhearted pat on the behind and told her to return to finish being searched. And as Vulpes waited, he overheard Six give the recruits at the gate an apology for running off. The guard must have finally connected Vulpes with the pendant around her neck; he said nothing, allowing her major indiscretion to slide. The recruit eyed the spikes on the shoulders of her new armor then ordered her to remove them, the Courier complying without any fuss. With the metal fastenings gone, the leather was the only part left, and Vulpes wholeheartedly approved of her appearance.

After being searched, the Courier shuffled toward Vulpes. She clung to his arm as he escorted her toward the inner area of the Fort. Slaves and Legionaries murmured about the free woman by his side.

"Why do they carry such heavy stuff?" Six whispered, eying a slave that passed by. "And why do they wear rags?"

"They're slaves," he replied, "and they're working. They've been given those clothes so they can be easily identified."

"They need shoes," she frowned.

Vulpes had nothing to say about that. The needs of the army would come before the needs of the slaves, but he wouldn't sour the mood by saying so.

They walked up the hill to the inner area of the Fort. Her arm was tangled around his, her head against his bicep. Six's footsteps were so close to his that they nearly tripped their way up the ancient logs that acted as stairs. The guards at the gate saluted Vulpes then opened it.

He smiled at Six and led her past the blacksmith, toward his tent. Vulpes pointedly ignored the staring from everyone nearby and pushed the tent flap aside to let the Courier in. Rex sat down outside the tent, knowing that he wasn't invited.

"So, is this where you live?" Six asked. Her eyes darted around the small tent, taking it in.

"Sort of," Vulpes nodded, "I have my own place in Flagstaff, so this one is temporary. When we conquer the Strip, the tents won't be necessary."

He allowed the tent's door to close then darted in to steal the quick kisses from Six that he'd wanted earlier. They quickly devolved into something desperate, his hands taking on a mind of their own as they migrated down the slick leather on her back to her behind. Vulpes leaned over her and crushed his mouth against hers while his hips sought contact with her body. The thrill that radiated outward from his groin at the point of contact with her lower stomach forced him to take a step back.

Vulpes was under orders to not screw around with another woman. True to Caesar, always.

He gave Six a quick peck on the mouth then quietly grabbed her hand and led her out of the tent. Perhaps he'd bought enough time that Caesar would be able to have her company.

"It wouldn't do for you to arrive here and spend a long while with me while Caesar is kept waiting," Vulpes said.

They walked the short distance to Caesar's tent and stopped outside.

"Stay out here while I see if you are permitted to enter," he nodded, "It'll be a moment."

Six pouted at him as he disappeared inside the tent. Vulpes hoped that Caesar would be well for his first impression with his future wife.

* * *

><p>Sometimes it happened in waves, and he could tell that today was going to be one of those days. His head hurt for about an hour and a half before it suddenly stopped. Edward wondered why in the hell he forbade painkillers in his own damn empire. It hadn't even been his idea in the first place.<p>

"Graham, you asshole" he cursed, drawing the attention of Lucius.

"You must be feeling better, my lord," the Praetorian chuckled.

Caesar waved his hand dismissively and shrugged, though he knew that his health had gotten bad enough to the point that he couldn't ignore it much longer.

Vulpes peeked into the room, his eyes downcast and soft, brows drawn down into a concerned, wrinkled state. He was pouting and Caesar regarded him coolly. Vulpes was giving him the look that said he wanted something, and he wanted it very badly.

Sighing, he motioned toward the Frumentarius, allowing him to speak. Caesar wondered how in the hell this one continually manipulated him as if he was some house mom.

"Six is here," Vulpes announced, "and she's waiting outside the tent."

"Incredible timing for a woman," Caesar mused, "must have kept some of that Courier instinct. Allow her to enter after I've gotten back to the throne."

Vulpes smiled, nodded, and left quietly. Nodding at Lucius, Caesar followed closely behind and took a seat on his makeshift throne. The Praetorian outside the tent opened the curtain to allow a tiny woman to enter.

She was so short; it appeared as if all of her body's resources had been used giving her wide hips and large breasts instead of giving the Courier height. Her wild, black hair bounced with each shy step she took toward him. Caesar wondered what the hell this woman was thinking, wearing skin-tight leather in front of an army of men that didn't have access to the beautiful slaves back in Legion territory.

Perhaps, this woman simply didn't think.

In the corner, Benny squirmed as he looked at the Courier. He'd said he felt guilty over shooting her, but Caesar doubted his sincerity since he had been beaten at the time. But the look of shame was clear on the Chairman's face.

"Benny," Caesar called, "What in the hell possessed you to shoot such a beautiful woman? Are you really that stupid?"

There was no reply as Benny turned his eyes to the ground.

"Hi," the Courier beamed, "I'm Six. Thank you for inviting me."

"Hello Six," Caesar chuckled, "I am Caesar, conqueror of over eighty-six tribes, future ruler of the Mojave Wasteland."

Behind Six, the guards stood and stared, shifting awkwardly.

"Now," Caesar continued, "turn around slowly. I want to see if you have any weapons on you."

Vulpes let out a loud, frustrated sigh as the Courier put her hands up and slowly turned. Her ass came into view and Caesar coughed to contain a laugh. At least he found out what seemed to have his guards' attention. Leave it to Vulpes to find a woman with an absurdly large and beautiful ass.

"You're quite the woman," Caesar laughed, "so I finally get to meet the Courier who's been accomplishing so much in so little time."

"Me?" she asked, her eyes wide in surprise.

"Yes, you," he replied, "you survive being shot in the head, and your first response is to track the man who shot you across the breadth of the Mojave. You waltz into the Lucky 38 as if someone left you a key under the doormat. And, you seduce my top agent, a man who has never been one to settle down. When you set your mind to something, you get results. I like that."

Caesar stared in confusion as the woman sat down in front of him and crossed her legs.

"What are you doing?" Vulpes whispered at her, "you don't sit. Ever." The only time Caesar had seen Vulpes as panicked as he appeared now was when the Legate crossed his path and gave him a certain look.

Caesar held up his hand to silence the Frumentarius and looked at the Courier, expecting an answer.

"I'm not supposed to sit?" she squeaked, "House lets me sit so I didn't think anything of it. I am so sorry."

"Well, if House lets you sit, then I guess I will too," Caesar mused.

He stared into the Courier's eyes and suppressed the urge to look away; hers were the kind of eyes that came off as staring and creepy, at least in his opinion. Regardless of that single flaw, he found himself reminded of a dog; she was cheerful, friendly, and seemed incredibly stupid. Caesar could see himself enjoying her company in the future.

"The time is coming when I will bring my Legion across the dam to conquer the Mojave," he told her, "but first, I want House out of the way. From what I know, House has something hidden in the weather station here, and it is of great significance to his plans."

He nodded to Lucius, who went into his private room to grab the Platinum Chip. Caesar held the chip out for the Courier who glared at it and hesitantly took it from his hand. He couldn't blame her. According to Vulpes, this chip had ruined her life.

"I don't care what this ultimate weapon of House's is," Caesar continued, "I want it destroyed. This is your task; destroy whatever House has in that bunker, and return to me as soon as you've finished. Your weapons will be brought to the bunker where you will be able to use them."

He glanced at Vulpes out of the corner of his eye; the Frumentarius appeared nauseous. Sighing, he motioned for Crassius to escort Six to the bunker, knowing that she wouldn't be harassed with a praetorian following her. Six glanced between Caesar and Vulpes then followed her escort out of the tent.

"So, you've fucked her, right?" Caesar asked, watching Six disappear from sight.

"No," Vulpes replied, "you said I wasn't allowed."

Did he? His head hurt so much the day of the duel that he couldn't remember.

"Well, you're allowed now," Caesar shrugged, "Will you marry her then?"

Vulpes blinked then took a deep breath.

"Yes," he sighed.

"Good," Caesar replied, "We wouldn't want the Legate to see her unattached." The malicious side of him got a kick out of how what he said made the Frumentarius cringe.

Regardless, he was certain that Vulpes and Six would have a bunch of sad-looking, creepy-eyed babies.


	26. Chapter 26

A/n: Sorry about the delay in posting this chapter. It's been really busy with classes and my headaches/migraines have been more frequent.

* * *

><p>Six wasn't sure that she liked this place. Everyone's stares were unnerving, especially those of the bony, barefoot slaves who could have been Carla Boone. It was comforting to have one of Caesar's elite guards lead her toward the bunker; she didn't want any trouble, and he'd ensure that there wouldn't be.<p>

He was tall and large, like one of the mountains she'd passed on her way to Cottonwood. A limp, reddish-brown mohawk crested his head, the front curling down over his brow. His face reminded her of a pre-war propaganda poster – strong jawed and square chinned.

"What's your name?" she asked.

The guard turned to regard her with his gray eyes and Six smiled up at him. Despite his serious demeanor, this man had a kind face.

"Crassius of Whiteriver," he replied, his voice a soothing rumble.

Six decided that Crassius was very handsome, and from what she'd seen already, the Legion was full of handsome men.

"Where are you from?" she smiled.

The guard chuckled and his freckled cheeks stained pink.

"Whiteriver," Crassius responded, "Arizona territory. It is near the capital."

That made sense. Six laughed at her obviously dumb question. Thankfully, this guard didn't seem annoyed. They walked around the back of Caesar's tent, the Courier taking two steps for each one of his. She could tell that he walked more slowly for her, a courtesy that made her smile.

"How does someone get to become a guard?" she questioned.

"Each one of us has done enough conquering and killing to become the rank of Centurion," he said, "we are Praetorians and we have two divisions: those who protect Caesar and those who protect the Legate. Though the Legate is powerful, he does need to sleep some time."

Six trotted along next to the gigantic man. She was happy that he was friendly, and that he was fine with her asking a lot of questions. It was exciting, getting to know new people and cultures.

"So, there's a rumor going around Vegas," Six nodded, "and I want to know about it because there's conflicting information. Is the Legion made of queers?"

Crassius faltered in his step, a frown spreading across his face.

"Queers?" he sighed, "In my Legion? Thousands of sweaty men thrusting wooden swords at each other in mock battle, and you ask if there are queers. Of course there aren't; homosexuals are crucified."

"Oh," Six murmured, "I didn't know. There's nothing wrong with gay people, but I'll keep that to myself then."

The Praetorian chuckled and stopped in front of a small building, the recruits opening the door for him immediately.

"I don't mind questions," he smiled, "but there are many who would. Females are to be seen and not heard. It would do you well to remember that. You are fortunate that Vulpes is one of our more liberal officers."

So, the man who slaughtered an entire town in a moral crusade was considered liberal. Six wondered what she'd gotten herself into. These people were nice, but after looking at the condition of the slaves, she concluded they were maybe just as misguided as the people they sought to destroy.

Six quietly followed Crassius into the building, tucking the Platinum chip away in order to receive her items. The Courier holstered her weapons that she'd need for a possible fight in the bunker; all the while, Crassius watched her intently.

After she finished, the Praetorian stepped forward, tugged on each fastening for her weapons, and eyed each knife and pistol, making sure that the latter was properly loaded. Twice he inspected her before solemnly nodding and placing his large hand on the top of her head. The recruits nodded their heads in reverence as Crassius spoke in a strange language, mentioning Vulpes' name more than once.

"Do well," Crassius nodded, "and may Mars grant you safety." He gave Six a quick pat on the head then backed away.

She inserted the Platinum chip into the console, jumping back when the metal doors at her feet opened. Cautiously, Six walked down the stairs to the door that was marked by the Lucky 38's logo. She opened it quickly and noticed that her Geiger counter was ticking.

It figured that the place would be irradiated; House was never completely honest with her.

Six fished around in her bag and popped some rad-x before making her way further in. She rounded a corner and House's face was on a screen; he'd been waiting for her.

"Well, you're here ahead of schedule," he greeted, "I suppose it's just as well. This is where I wanted you to end up after all. I knew I could count on Caesar to give you back the Platinum Chip."

"Why'd you think that?" Six asked.

There was a loud, frustrated grumble on the other line.

"The Platinum Chip unlocks this bunker," House sighed, "hence you have it. Hence, Benny was captured or killed. Hence, Caesar gave you the chip to destroy whatever is in this bunker. But that's not going to happen, because you're going to work for me."

"You don't have to be so mean about it," she ground out, "What are you asking me to do?"

"I need you to manually upload the data from the Chip to the facility's primary terminal on the other end of this bunker. But there's a complication. I can see this bunker; however, I do not have control of this system's primary functions. This means that I can't deactivate the security bots, most of which are still active."

Six rolled her eyes at House; she was sick of there always being a catch with him. She made her way through twisting corridors, going as quietly as possible to try to get the jump on the robots. Stopping in front of a large room, Six counted the number of protectrons and realized that she wouldn't be able to get them all without being seen. One of the bots came into view and the Courier shot, knowing to aim for the small hole in its chest. It exploded in a shower of parts and alerted the other protectrons. She frowned when one of them told her to not be alarmed. Of course she'd be alarmed; they were shooting at her.

One of their lasers nicked her shoulder and the Courier stifled a whimper, knowing that it was possible that the others hadn't spotted her yet. Six destroyed it in a hail of bullets and rounded the corner past a gigantic machine. Unexpectedly, the final robot was directly in front of her, its weapon-arms aimed at her face.

She was dead. It was all House's fault.

The shots that she expected came out as clicks and Six wasted no time in shooting the protectron. She closed her eyes as the bot's explosion caused a shower of hot parts. Ignoring the stinging in her arm, Six took cover in the side of the doorway that led to a long hallway.

There were two protectrons and two turrets guarding the room. Six swallowed as the radiation made her see double for a moment, a wave of nausea threatening to overtake her. Bracing against the wall, the Courier eyed her Geiger counter and froze; her radiation levels were nearing critical levels.

She destroyed the bots first, hoping to bide her time in cover to take out the turrets. In between the automated fire, she popped back out and eventually destroyed them. There was nothing more between her and the final room.

It was a quick dash to the console and the unthinking Courier inserted the Platinum chip. She'd give House what he wanted and she'd deal with what happened from that later.

House's face lit up on the screen in front of her and a loud rumble began in the deep recesses of the bunker. The shutters that lined the hallway opened with a clatter, revealing thousands of newly activated securitrons.

"Your work here is done," House said, "Take the Platinum chip and return to the Lucky 38 for further instructions. You have a very bright future ahead of you, as well as the rest of mankind."

She was too nauseous, too drained and dizzy to care. Six tripped her way back to the entrance and found herself on her last ounce of strength as she trudged her way back up the stairs. A strong pair of arms caught her when she stumbled; the world was going black.

"Something happened down there," a voice called from the doorway, "the ground shook."

"Yes," the person holding her replied. It was Crassius.

"She's ill," the voice continued, "looks like radiation poisoning."

There was a quick 'mhm' above her as the Praetorian got a better hold on her. Multiple sets of hands made quick work of disarming her. The world continued to spin as she was carried out of the building.

"The device on her arm is blinking," the other man noted, "do you know what it could mean?"

"No, Marcus," Crassius replied. He sounded like he was beginning to get frustrated.

"So, you're taking her to Siri then," Marcus said.

"Yes, dear," Crassius sighed.

The conversation was cut off by a set of quickly approaching footsteps. Six was transferred into another set of arms, the new holder cursing under his breath. It had to be Vulpes; he smelled just like him.

She wanted to kiss him, wanted to let him know that she was okay and that all she needed was some rad-x. But her limbs were non-responsive; a weak whimper escaped her throat.

The world faded away, Vulpes' familiar scent bringing her comfort.

* * *

><p>They looked like an ancient painting from the way he carried her. Her head lay back limply, the black cascade of her hair writhing while her head lolled listlessly to the side.<p>

Marcus clutched the Courier's bag in his hand and followed Vulpes toward the medical tent. To his right, Crassius trudged along; he appeared completely unconcerned.

"I have the utmost confidence that she will be blessed for her obedience," Crassius stated. It brought Marcus comfort, but Vulpes still appeared to be troubled.

The Frumentarius opened the flap to the medical tent and the wide-eyed healer within gasped. They laid the Courier on the table and Siri examined her as best she could. While the Praetorians watched, Vulpes and Siri conversed, their speech so peppered with medical terms that Marcus became easily lost. Vulpes nodded at him and Marcus handed the bag over.

He was horrified when Vulpes withdrew a stim and other medication from the bag's inner pocket.

"Turn around," Vulpes ordered.

He nodded and turned along with Crassius. Vulpes didn't want them to be an accessory to his defiance of the law. Such an act was faithless, but Marcus couldn't blame Vulpes. If something happened to Crassius and injecting him was the only way to help him, Marcus knew he'd do it without hesitation. He'd already broken the law to be with the one he loved.

It spoke volumes about Vulpes' love for this woman.

The syringes disappeared when Marcus turned to look at the Courier once more. Already, her face regained its color, her chest rising and falling slowly in a deep slumber. The ancient healing methods worked extremely well.

Was the use of them weakness? As Marcus gazed upon the tiny female, he supposed not. Women were fragile.

"That should be enough to get her started," Vulpes frowned, "the rest can be done with cave fungus. We wouldn't want her being miraculously cured." His gaze never left the Courier.

Siri applied alcohol to a rag, dabbed at Six's cut and jumped back when she sat up with a shriek. The healer looked between everyone with fear in her eyes. But Vulpes was too preoccupied with holding the Courier and mumbling into her hair to bother reprimanding the woman. Six buried her head against Vulpes' chest as Siri continued to treat the burn wound on her shoulder.

Crassius shifted in place and smiled at the woman.

"You took the radiation on yourself to do the will of Mars," he remarked, "there will be a just reward for your obedient sacrifice."

"I don't need anything," Six replied, her voice muffled, "just make sure nobody goes down there; it'd be very bad if someone got sick."

"There's no need for anyone to enter that bunker again," Vulpes declared. He leaned over and kissed the Courier on the cheek.

Siri finished bandaging the half-healed wound and turned to remove cave fungus from a jar on her workbench. She stated that it was for radiation before offering it to Six. Taking the mushrooms, the Courier popped one in her mouth, chewed and swallowed with a smile on her face.

"Wait," Marcus chuckled, "You think that tastes good? Really?"

Six nodded, her face turning red.

Cave fungus was terrible. The fact that it grew where dead bodies were left to rot made it even worse.

"I never knew you to be squeamish about mushrooms in your mouth," Vulpes drawled. He looked smug as he planted a kiss on the Courier's neck.

Marcus looked at him in shock then quickly shook his head in an attempt to recover.

Six stared at him with her owlish eyes, clueless to the world. Admittedly, Marcus was surprised that Vulpes would bother with someone who appeared to be so unintelligent. He'd fancied women once, and this one was too much. Her breasts were comically large, as were her hips and ass. A selfish part of him said that this pairing was a waste of a man.

Marcus chided himself for being shallow. Though a female, this Courier had done much for Caesar, going so far as to risk her life to do his bidding. She was devoted and subservient; it was something that the dissolute women never knew.

Perhaps she'd grow on him. After all, she'd grown on Vulpes rather quickly.


	27. Chapter 27

A/n: Put your PPE on, folks! It's going to be a wild ride from here on out XD

**This chapter contains sexual content (****very**** graphic male masturbation)****. ****Read at your own discretion.**

* * *

><p>She didn't feel bad about lying. The Fort was a camp of wrongness, bent on land theft in the same way as the NCR. Land and pre-war technology were the only resources left from the bombs; at least the Legion was only interested in one. Still, their jealousy for what others already owned was dangerous. What happened to Carla Boone proved that.<p>

Six walked on shaky legs as the man she liked to kiss led her back to Caesar's tent. She snacked on the healing mushrooms that the timid healer gave her, not caring that the one called Marcus thought she was weird for liking them. They tasted vaguely of meat and dirt, but Six could feel their effects quickly. She didn't know that food could be so healing. There was something to be said about the Legion's natural way of living. She gave Rex a quick pat on the head as she followed Vulpes into Caesar's tent.

"I felt the ground shake a while ago," Caesar smiled, "I'll take that as a sign that you've done as I asked. There are rewards for obeying my orders. The reward this time will be the gun that Benny shot you with."

Her eyes were wide as Caesar handed the golden pistol to her. Six took in the details of the beautiful weapon, running her thumb over the picture of the woman on the grip.

"Do you know who she is?" Caesar asked.

Six shook her head quietly.

"Her name is Mary," he told her, "Maria in Latin. She was a favored servant of God. Even women have their chosen place. Her portrait on that weapon means that whoever holds the weapon is asking for divine favor. And now, I give this divine favor to you."

She overheard Benny cursing him under his breath, complaining that the gun was named Maria and was Spanish, not Latin, and from Mexico. A smack upside the head from Crassius shut him up.

"Tell me," Caesar asked, "What do you think of the NCR?"

"They want power from the dam and that's it," Six replied, "they've got some kind of – "

Something tugged at the corner of her mind, causing her to wince and stare at the ground as it ebbed up from the deep recesses of things forgotten.

"Misplaced sense of Manifest Destiny," she finished. Six rubbed her head and hoped that what she said made sense.

Caesar stared at her for a moment, his eyes wide. In the next second, he broke out into a broad grin and laughed outright.

"I like you," he chuckled, "I like you a lot. As I was telling you earlier, I want House out of the picture. When he learns that you destroyed his gadgets beneath the Fort, he's going to strike back. It's up to you to get to him before he gets to you. You know where to find him; how he dies, I leave up to you."

Six stared at him with big eyes.

"You want me to kill House?" she asked, barely able to squeak out the question.

"I want you to kill House," he repeated.

Vulpes looked at Caesar as if he'd been hurt; it was very obvious that this was not what he had in mind with her introduction. Six nodded. She was unable to find the words to agree and knew she was screwed if they ever looked into that bunker.

"What did he offer in exchange for your services?" Caesar asked, stroking his chin in thought.

"My name," Six replied, "he was going to figure out who I am and where I'm from."

The dictator paused for a moment and frowned. With a grunt, he waved his hand at her.

"Give me a bit to think about this," he said, "and feel free to talk to Benny on your way out. You're one of us now. Ask him what his punishment will be for attempting to kill a servant of the Legion."

Six shuffled her way over to Benny, afraid to talk to him. The prisoner looked hopeless as he stared at her though swollen, beaten eyes.

"So, what was in that bunker?" he asked.

"A securitron army that House wanted me to upgrade," Six said. She knelt down to speak with Benny face to face.

"So, he had an army on reserve, eh?" he replied, "but you destroyed it."

When Crassius' head was turned, she shook her head 'yes' but mouthed the word 'no'. Benny smiled softly at her.

"You're smarter than you look," he chuckled, "I'll give ya that. Then again, had it been me, I would have upgraded the robots. I started my whole plan by setting up Yes Man in the back corner of my room at the Tops. By killing House and installing Yes Man, someone could take over Vegas with an upgraded army. Of course, that's not going to happen now."

"Why?" she asked, "Why would you want to take over Vegas?"

"Because look at everyone," Benny declared, "House doesn't care about the people. The NCR just wants the power from the dam and these skirted creeps here just want a place to set up shop and have some tits and ass. Nobody gives a goddamn about the people."

Across the tent, Caesar began to laugh. He slowly rose from his throne and approached Benny.

"You presume much," he smirked, flexing the fingers of his displacer glove.

"Please," Benny sighed, "you don't care about any of your subjects. You've got dames running around barefoot and you're forcing them to work, while pregnant from the rape that you say is a-okay. I get that the wasteland isn't all roses, but it should be your job to try to make life better for people. You're just perpetuating the hate."

"You should know about hate," Caesar quipped, "the things that raiders and junkies do to hapless travelers. The evils of drugs and alcohol and how they destroy whatever they touch. Through conquest and discipline, my Legion has achieved safety and has provided a purpose for everyone. Our territory is free of raiders and animal attacks. We treat traders fairly and don't impose taxes. Corruption is violently stamped out; we have achieved peace and prosperity through war."

"If you cared about me then you wouldn't have shot me in the head," Six mumbled. She stared at the ground, unwilling to continue if someone wanted her to join the argument.

Benny began to plead and pout, calling her baby and other such nonsense. But Vulpes stormed up to the prisoner. He looked intent on severing the man's head from his neck with the ripper at his side.

"Six," he smiled, "you should take Rex to see Antony, the hound master. He might have a brain for you. I'll be along shortly." Vulpes' smile was maniacal, the same grin he had when they met at Nipton.

The Courier didn't question and didn't even bother to ask for directions as she hurried her way out of the tent.

She didn't know that man anymore.

* * *

><p>Antony sat amidst a den of pups, their tiny mouths attempting to suckle and nibble on his fingers. They gnawed on anything leather that they could get their mouths on; already, the pups had a taste for flesh.<p>

Lupa wandered up to him and buried her head against his side, sighing deeply. He returned her embrace, nestling his face into her graying fur. She smelled like leather and oil and something that reminded him of the wildflowers from where he was born. Despite her ferociousness, Lupa was all woman; she was tender with pups that weren't hers and tender with her human who tried to will the years away as he ran his hands over her aged muscles.

The dogs spoke a language so plain and honest, unlike the language of men. They loved him and treated him like family, knowing exactly how he felt at any given time. Antony didn't need anyone, save his dogs. This had given him quite the reputation among the humans. Many assumed that he laid with the bitches under his care. Such idle talk was disgusting; Antony wouldn't commit incest with his animals.

He heard footsteps and glanced up. It was a free female; he'd overheard about her arrival but hadn't bothered much with rumors.

Her canine eyes regarded him with open wonder and he felt the urge to whine. Though she was short, she had wide hips and large breasts; she was a creature built for reproduction.

Lupa sat and leaned back into him, eying the stranger, and approving. He appreciated her approval but knew that the alpha woman wouldn't lower status for him.

"Hi," she chirped, "I'm Six."

He continued to stare as she fearlessly walked among the hounds and sat in front of him. In an instant, Six was bombarded with a litter of puppies, their wiggling, yipping bodies colliding into her lap.

To her left, a handsome dog staggered in and plopped his metal behind next to her. He leaned heavily on the woman for support, his baggy, sleepless eyelids closing. Lupa sidled up to him and gently licked his muzzle. Her tail tucked inward in subordination as she attempted to comfort him. The brain in its case on his head looked sickly.

"This is Rex," Six frowned, "he needs a new brain or he'll die."

Antony nodded and reached out to gently pet the dog's ears. Rex leaned in, letting out a pained yowl as the contents of his brain case tilted to the side. Lupa began to lick the glass container on the dog's head in an attempt to soothe the pain.

"He hurts a lot," Antony sighed, "Lupa wants to help him."

The woman smiled and thanked Lupa, giving her a good scratch behind the ears. And as the pups wiggled around her legs and suckled her fingers, Six giggled, allowing them to rip and gnaw at her long, black hair. She was beautiful, almost matronly; this woman understood the dogs.

He found himself wanting to mount her, a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time.

A particularly brave pup jumped up at her and she gasped, clutching at her chest. She held the pup off with one hand as a golden pendant dangled in her other hand, just out of the pup's reach.

Antony's heart fell when he saw the pendant's design; this woman was betrothed to the Fox.

"Lupa wants to help very much," Antony frowned. He stared at Lupa, his oldest and best friend. She was too old to breed again safely, her legs didn't work well, and she shivered constantly. Next would come incontinence, an indignity that made him put his old dogs down. But as he stared into her eyes, Antony thought that perhaps, Lupa could do one last, great thing.

The moment was interrupted by the approach of a man whose face he'd never seen before. He was tall and thin, his face stuck in a permanent state of sadness. The man knelt down next to Six and kissed her on the cheek. Antony found himself stunned into silence; such displays were incredibly rare among the humans he knew. Did they understand the dogs?

Antony shook his head quickly and stood to salute the man who was undoubtedly the unmasked Fox.

"You can see her dog's situation," Vulpes said, "He looks after her when I cannot, which is often. A man's courage may fail, but a loyal dog will never back down."

"I've," he started, staring at Lupa, "I've been thinking about how we can help." He ran his hands over Lupa's head. It'd be quick and easy just to snap her neck. She wouldn't feel pain.

"It would make Lupa immortal, in a way," Antony continued.

Vulpes looked at him for a moment, his brow raised.

"Lupa is your prized bitch," he said.

"And she is old," Antony said, "very old. Those cyber dogs need the highest quality replacements or they don't do so well. There were many of them outside Denver; I've seen them need replacements before, but never a brain. Not that I doubt that he needs it. The brain, it looks sickly."

A pair of praetorians wandered down from Caesar's tent directly toward them and it was no guess that this was a direct summons.

"Caesar has a counter-offer for the Courier," the Praetorian nodded.

Antony looked at the ground, determined not to stare at the woman who had become important enough for the mighty Caesar to negotiate with. The couple stood and he made up his mind.

"When you return, I will have a fresh brain preserved for Rex," he promised.

Though it was something that he'd forgotten long ago, there was something about this woman that inspired his confidence.

* * *

><p>The day was wearing on and Caesar felt the weight of rule settle heavily on his shoulders. He knew that what he was about to do would be incredibly unpopular, but it was important to give the Courier something that would make her come back. Caesar had to give Six a reliance on him as opposed to House.<p>

He was used to forcing people into doing as he said; this was new territory for him.

Caesar watched as Vulpes escorted Six into the tent. He understood the appeal; this woman was beautiful, her mannerisms adorable and appropriately obedient. Still, it hadn't taken Vulpes very long to become completely infatuated with the Courier. If this were some quick attraction, then he'd have to come up with another potential husband for her. Perhaps Marcus would be suitable. After all, Vulpes was notoriously fickle with women.

"So," he began, "House assumes that he can figure out your identity, when he does nothing but hide in his tower."

Six nodded shyly.

"I have eyes and ears everywhere," Caesar continued, "well trained agents who can gather information without being detected. You already know the greatest of these agents; Vulpes is a master."

Vulpes stared at him with wide eyes, as if he knew what was coming next. Edward gave the kid a mental apology before he issued the orders. It was for his good; it was for the good of the Legion.

"Tomorrow, Vulpes will be sent to the far corners of wherever necessary to discover your identity," he declared, "and he will not return until he has news of some sort. You may do as you wish until he leaves. Now, run along. I don't want to see you again until you've brought news about House."

The woman complied without protest, lowered her gaze, and left the tent. Caesar wondered how in the hell she came seemingly pre-trained for obedience.

From an early age, Legionaries were taught to obey and never question, but sometimes, a remarkable individual would come along that needed extra convincing. Vulpes was one such person. He looked at Caesar as if he'd committed the ultimate betrayal.

"My Lord," Vulpes began.

Sighing, Caesar motioned Vulpes to follow him for a private audience, Lucius following closely behind. He tried to ignore the drag of his left leg and slowly lowered himself into a chair, his spine groaning in protest.

"You need to take care of your property," Caesar stated, "Besides, if her virtues continue to be so satisfactory, then it would be wise to have her as a priestess or saint of sorts. We can't have her being called a number."

Lanius was the ideal representation of power, Vulpes was the representation of intelligence, and Six would be the embodiment of obedience. Essentially, he had living, breathing ideals for his people to imitate on a daily basis.

"I understand," Vulpes conceded, "but let's be honest with each other. You're unwell."

He had a knee-jerk reaction to deny it and throw Vulpes out, but Lucius' single, concerned nod made him stop.

"It's fine," Caesar said, "take care of your property. You'll leave tomorrow."

Vulpes paced in front of him in frustration, his expression desperate.

"Abbas," Vulpes begged.

He didn't mean Pater Mars, and it made Caesar cringe and feel unreasonable amounts of happiness, all at the same time. This was the one he'd plucked from the jaws of death and groomed to suit his purposes. Vulpes had always been his favorite; Edward now saw why Graham had discouraged this closeness with Vulpes to begin with. The Frumentarius just addressed him as his Dad. But he had to be closer to some; it'd be a lonely world without Vulpes and Lucius.

"Speak your mind," Caesar ordered.

"I have researched noticeable symptoms and have consulted multiple neurology texts," Vulpes replied, "it seems to be a tumor."

"Then it is as I have feared," he frowned.

Feared. He couldn't remember the last time he'd ever feared something. Unbidden memories of Boneyard came to his mind. He closed his eyes and saw his parents washed in their own blood at the hands of raiders.

"I'm reluctant to leave your side," Vulpes admitted, "though being without Six will be painful; this is something far more concerning. It's been enough of a concern that I looked into a surgeon; this is the only way that recovery will be possible."

It was angering that Vulpes went behind his back, hurtful that he never bothered to consult him, and touching that he cared enough to go above and beyond to help. But Vulpes obeyed out of love, not fear. He'd disobey out of love as well.

"Tell me about this surgeon," Caesar said. He leaned forward and put his chin in his hand.

"I wanted to have complete certainty that he could do the job before I mentioned him," Vulpes replied, "but we seem to be at an impasse. The surgeon is named Dr. Henry, and he lives in Jacobstown, a small town of mutants. His test would have been the successful replacement of Six's cyberdog's brain."

Caesar nodded.

"And she is obtaining a brain as we speak," he noted.

"Yes, my Lord," Vulpes replied.

Caesar sighed and pursed his lips; there was no way around this.

"I understand your concerns," he sighed, "but my orders still stand. That woman is the key to Vegas and she has to be kept on our side."

Vulpes bowed his head, staring at the floor.

"I do not question," he replied.

"Good," Caesar nodded. For some reason, he felt that Vulpes would be safer away from the Fort.

* * *

><p>Lupa's brain was delivered to the gate with Six's items, and Rex seemed to know that as Antony gave him a scratch behind the ears.<p>

"I will send prayers to the gods that your travels will be safe," the hound master said, "and Lupa's spirit will keep you safe."

Six wanted to hug him, but she knew it'd be improper. There were so many things that didn't make sense with the world. Since when was it wrong to give someone a hug who needed it?

"You've given me an amazing gift," Six said, "I will do my best to honor it."

Antony nodded and stared behind her, his posture nervous. Six turned around to see Vulpes approach. Immediately, she could tell that something was off about him, and she suspected it had to do with Caesar's orders.

"I want to talk to you before I leave," he said.

He was tense, his mouth drawn into a deep frown. Maybe he knew that she lied about destroying the robots. And with each silent footstep that led them to Vulpes' tent, Six grew more nervous.

Vulpes opened the tent's flap, secured it behind them, and then removed his dog's mask. With the rest of his head showing, Six could maybe pretend that he was still Fox, that he wasn't a slaver and that maybe everything was different somehow.

"I'm going to be gone for a while," he told her. He was pacing and running his hand through his hair, looking absolutely nauseous.

"I'll miss you," she said, her eyes following him as he made short work of wearing a path in the dirt floor.

"I will too," he replied, "and that's why I needed to see you in private."

Vulpes stopped pacing and exhaled roughly. His shaking hands grabbed hers as he stared directly into her eyes.

"I love you," he admitted, "I'm madly, irrevocably in love with you."

Six stared at him, trying to process what he just said.

"We just met not too long ago," Six replied. She braced the backs of her legs against his desk, not trusting them to support her from the weight of this news.

He looked confused, as if he hadn't expected her to say that. But what could she say? They met a few weeks ago and he'd been incognito the whole time. She didn't know the man in front of her enough to even have the idea of love cross her mind.

"It doesn't matter," Vulpes countered, "I feel like I've known you forever. You're the woman who was made for me and I love you. This is what matters."

It didn't work like this. She wasn't going to have a shotgun wedding with a tenuous friend. Was this some kind of Legion thing?

"I don't love you," Six sighed, "I don't know myself and I just can't even begin to have a relationship the way I am right now."

His face turned red with each passing second and Six knew that she'd hurt him deeply.

"Then pretend," he demanded, "I don't care if it's a lie; I need you."

"Vulpes," Six mumbled, "I'm damaged. I'm no good to myself even right now. I have to grow up again first."

"I will fix you," he declared, "I will give you the name you desire and you will want nothing. Let me show you how much I love you."

Vulpes backed her into sitting on the desk and attacked her with a searing kiss. Finally, he was doing something she knew; he was speaking a language she understood. Six returned his kisses, desperately trying to forget what he said. Any second, he'd back up for air and give her that roguish grin that said he wanted to show her a naughty time.

Instead, he whispered something about wanting her so much as he pressed a telltale bulge against her thigh.

"I don't want a baby," Six protested, gently pushing back against his armored chest.

"I'll pull out," Vulpes murmured. His breath was hot against her neck as he continued to kiss her.

But the book said that the withdrawal method had an eighteen percent failure rate. She did not want to be one of those eighteen women that got pregnant.

"I'm not ready," she whined, "I'm scared."

And she was scared. Six wasn't ready; she didn't even know if he'd fit. After all, the book said that the average man had a six-inch penis and his was definitely bigger than six inches. What if it didn't fit? Would it hurt? What if she got pregnant? They were in a tent and if she let it happen, everyone would hear them.

There were reasons, so many reasons, why she couldn't have sex with him. And if she was truly honest with herself, she knew that those reasons revolved around her, not him.

She wasn't ready; she was scared.

But the most damning reason of them all was that he loved her and she didn't love him back.

Six scrambled away from his grip, unable to look him in the eye. Vulpes grabbed her and forced her back against him. He buried his face in her hair, murmuring in an unintelligible language. She'd driven him to the brink, and from what Six knew of Legion rules, he could take what she didn't want to give. The Fox act melted off him completely, and the iron-gripped man she met in Nipton took its place.

"I'm going to be gone for a while," Vulpes sighed, "and I will miss you. Before I leave I want–"

He didn't finish his sentence, picked her up like a ragdoll, and placed her on his desk, her knees on either side of his hips. The Courier's breath hitched; he was going to rape her. Vulpes frowned as he pulled back from ravaging her neck, his appearance watery from the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.

Hastily, he backed away, his hands held up in a placating gesture.

"You really are scared," he frowned.

Her reply was a nod. When she blinked, the tears finally fell. Vulpes hesitantly approached her and Six let him come back. Drawing her into a tight hug, he began to ramble into her hair.

"They never refuse me," he said, "and if they do, they wear down eventually. I'm tired of that game."

"How many women have you loved?" Six asked, sniffling.

"Just you," Vulpes replied. His thumbs traced soothing patterns on the tops of her hands.

She nodded slowly in understanding.

Six knew she shouldn't encourage him, but there was something about Vulpes that was compelling. For the one of the first times since she'd known him, he'd been incredibly real and transparent with her. It was dangerous, exciting, and terrifying all at the same time. She'd captured the heart of a terrorist who was convinced that he was a sort of holy warrior for his godlike emperor. He was human before her, raw and wounded from her spurning.

She reached toward the knife on his belt, trying her best to ignore the suggestive motions of his eyes as he assumed something sexual from her hand's course. The knife slid from its sheath and the Courier wound a lock of hair tightly around her fingers. She brought it to the hair and sawed gently, the hair splitting easily from the sharpness of the blade.

"If you're serious," she began, "then take this with you. I can't promise that I'll be ready when you return, but we'll see after then."

Six watched him remove one of his gloves, wind the lock of hair around the inside, then replace the glove on his arm. She felt guilty, knowing that she was leading him on. Still, there was another part of her that couldn't just let him go.

"Stay with me tonight," Vulpes said. He hugged her tightly, hunching over her in order to be as close as possible.

"I can't," she replied, "no good is going to come from that. I need to go."

She couldn't stay. It'd progress into something sexual, and there was no way she was going to be with a man that loved her that she didn't love back. She did more than enough to hurt him already.

"Then let me walk you to the docks," he sighed.

Silently, they left the tent and made their way toward the gate, Rex in tow. Vulpes kept his distance from her as he led her through the maze of tents that lay scattered across the hill. The rules of conduct had changed; if they were in Vegas he would have led her by the arm, kissing her on the cheek every few steps.

Six didn't like this. They couldn't do as they pleased, though she debated the wisdom of allowing him to continually touch her.

Soon, they reached the gate that led to the raft that would take her home. Vulpes drew her close to him and bowed his head to tell her something that only she would hear.

"Listen," Vulpes said, "I'll be gone for a while, and I might not even come back with something. Do your duty without expecting reward. Do what is required because it's required, not because of promises."

"Is that what you do?" she asked, "Is that what Nipton was about?"

"Yes," he replied, "each one of us is given our duties. Like you, I have forgotten the name I was born with and took on the name of the Legion. The whole is more important than the individual."

Six nodded. He reminded her of Fox then, instructing her quietly about life. And as she peered into his eyes and gave him one last kiss goodbye, Six couldn't help but think that this man could have been something special, had he just forsaken that which was evil.

* * *

><p>Vulpes couldn't begin to berate himself enough for his foolishness and his weakness. The opinion of a dissolute female shouldn't have mattered, but his pride was greatly injured from her spurning his advances. She didn't want to bear his children, didn't want him inside her, and didn't even want him to touch her.<p>

Six didn't love him.

But, he already had one foot in the door; she'd given him a lock of her precious hair. She had his mark. They would always carry a part of each other with them, or some such romantic nonsense. Still, Vulpes rather liked the idea.

He sighed as he entered his tent. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend that he could still smell Six where she'd been sitting on his desk, her legs wrapped around his hips. Vulpes groaned at the memory of their kiss; she'd left him and ignored her duty as a woman when he desperately needed her.

Had he been any other man, she would have been put in her place on the floor, her naked legs spread for him. But he never dealt with wild women; he preferred his partners willing and eager. Besides, Six seemed willing to do all kinds of things with him, until he'd told her that he loved her.

Vulpes huffed. He should have never told her. If he hadn't, they would be tangled in his sheets at that very moment. But a sense of urgency and decency compelled him to tell her how he felt; after all, everyone assumed they were betrothed.

That was another issue altogether. Now that they were considered to be engaged, he wasn't about to run out on her with the nearest slave. He sighed and wished that Six made him stop before he'd gotten so turned on.

His hand drifted downward to the bulge that lay against his thigh. Exhaling, he palmed his manhood through the crimson material that hung loosely about his hips. It took little more than a few seconds of absent fondling to make up his mind.

He was going to do this, even though it was something he hadn't done in years.

Vulpes wasted no time in removing his pteruges, the studded strips of leather dropping to the tent's dirt floor with a clatter. He tucked his tunic into his belt as his dick twitched against his boxers, a small portion of the swollen flesh visible through his strained fly.

Eager hands dropped the boxers around booted ankles then moved to gently tease his erection. Vulpes groaned lightly as a slow pump languidly peeled his foreskin back. A few strokes in, he was at full attention, a slick drop of moisture pooling in the recess of his head. The drop became a bead, then a string that connected his thumb to his cock as he pulled his hand away.

Vulpes walked over to the desk where he'd cornered Six earlier. He rested the bottom of his dick against the smooth wood, hissing at cold contact. Gloved hands held it in place on top as he began to thrust gently, his foreskin gliding back and forth with each thrust. Vulpes closed his eyes.

Six was the kind that deserved it slow and thorough, with constant tongue kisses. Her breasts would jiggle each time their bodies met and he'd have a handful of her big, beautiful ass. And that hair would fall over her shoulders when she threw her head back, moaning his name.

A hiss escaped his clenched teeth as he began to thrust faster. Vulpes remembered the quiet sounds of pleasure she made when he fingered her at Gomorrah, the way she gasped in his ear, and the way she clung to him as she hit her peak, her womanhood sucking on his finger.

The thought made him shudder and tumble over the edge, his eyes un-focusing as he stifled a groan and erupted across the desk.

After catching his breath, Vulpes smiled; that was exactly what he needed. He yawned in contentedness and supposed he'd better redress and clean up. After all, if he ever got caught doing what he just did, he'd never live it down.

Unfortunately, Vulpes had the sneaking suspicion that his hands would be his only company for quite a while.


	28. Chapter 28

A/n: As always, thank you all for the hits and reviews and such. I was worried that the last chapter would turn some folks off. Good to see that it hasn't :)

* * *

><p>A wiggle of a toe here, a twist of an ankle there. Benny knew that if he moved in certain ways, the ropes binding him would be just a tad looser when he moved back to his original position.<p>

He hadn't come this far just to be crucified for shooting a broad in the head. It was just his luck that Fox had turned out to be Legion, and that the Courier just so happened to be the one gal that he settled down for. Then again, it was just his luck that the guards had been changed. If that hulking redhead had stayed on duty, it'd be curtains for him. He couldn't even blink without that cat seeing it.

So far, his luck had been fifty-fifty. Benny figured that he'd better cash in before his odds ran out.

He'd have to swim a hell of a long way to get to shore, but drowning was preferable over crucifixion. Resolved, the former Chairman waited until the guards weren't looking and quietly rolled off down the hill and into the water. It took him a while to get the hang of swimming tied up, but he had no choice but to do a good job at it. Benny swam as fast as he possibly could while staying underwater as long as possible; he didn't want to test if the desert-raised Legionaries could swim or not.

He cursed the heaviness of his coat, knowing that it could very well be the death of him. Somehow, Benny's feet touched land and he flopped about in an attempt to stand. After gathering his bearings, he eyed the landscape in front of him.

Black Mountain; it'd be an excellent place to hide.

* * *

><p>There was a haze about the unkempt parts of the city, the smell of human waste laying in a layer around Freeside on the unseasonably hot day. Smoke rose up from multiple rusted barrels as trash smouldered deep inside. Six wasn't sure if she ought to breathe out of her nose or mouth. The former would stink and the latter wouldn't, but breathing out of the mouth would mean that she was tasting the air.<p>

As a woman sat on the street corner coughing, a naked toddler rooted through a nearby heap of rubble, throwing fragments of cracked bricks as far as his little arms could fling them. On the opposite corner, a man stood and exchanged chems for caps with a shaking, patchy-haired man.

There were two lines in the street, one for the Kings' water and the other for NCR food handouts. Six walked past the table; the food smelled half-decent, and she couldn't blame the people for becoming NCR citizens just to eat. The promise of a full stomach could turn almost anyone to go against what they believed in.

"NCR citizens only," the woman at the table announced, "become a citizen of the NCR and you'll get free food. We take care of our people."

A nearby King grumbled about money-grubbing thieves then turned to face the Courier.

"Hey," he smiled, "you're the one who's been helping with Rex. The King sends his regards."

He snagged a stick of iguana bits from the NCR table and offered them to Six, ignoring the angered cries of the woman managing the table. Shaking her head, the Courier refused the stolen food. The gangster simply shrugged and grabbed a piece of the meat with his teeth.

"See ya around then," he shrugged.

A King stood at the water pump, announcing free water for five seconds for everyone, twice a day. Six smiled to herself; some progress was always better than no progress. But it wasn't enough, and she knew that it'd take hard work to make everyone's lives better.

Six went through the door to west Freeside and walked toward the Strip. She supposed it should have been strange that the Lucky 38 felt like home now, but then again, she'd never had anything different. A pair of Securitrons greeted her and let her in. Flashing lights and blaring music greeted the Courier. It didn't feel right being on the Strip without Vulpes on her arm, nearly stumbling along because he couldn't stop kissing her.

She sighed as she climbed the steps to the Lucky 38. The signs that he was in love with her had been there, but she just figured that he treated all of his girls like that. Frowning, Six took the elevator up to the penthouse, giving Rex a reassuring scratch behind the ears while they waited.

The doors opened and the Courier stepped out of the elevator and down the stairs to speak with House.

"I take it that you've come to deliver the Platinum chip?" House asked.

"Yep," Six replied, "here it is."

She inserted the Chip into the console for him.

"Good," he said.

There was a pause as the chip loaded and Rex began to chase his tail in front of the screen.

"What the hell is that dog doing in here?" House hissed, "This area is off limits to everyone but you, and even then, that's when I need you."

Six opened her mouth to speak.

"You know what," House interrupted, "I don't want to hear it. Come back in a few days and we'll start the next part of the plan. Just don't get knocked up in the meantime."

She could feel her face heating up at House's angering words. A quick glance to the left piqued her curiosity. Could that be where House was? She supposed it didn't matter at the moment. Six had a lot to think about.

She needed to talk to Arcade about this, in particular, about Yes Man.

* * *

><p>He wasn't quite sure how he ended up in this position, and supposed it would be comical if it were anyone but him.<p>

Boone awoke to hearing the elevator doors open. His shirt was tangled up around his neck and over his face; it'd been a while since he'd passed out so sloppily. Usually, it was just sitting straight in a chair, one minute awake, the next, in oblivion.

"Boone," Six giggled, "your chest looks like a carpet."

He wanted to tell her that not all men looked like her precious, mostly hairless Fox, but the words died on his tongue as he remembered Carla saying the same thing about him.

"How about you get a shower and have some water?" the Courier smiled, helping him up.

Boone recoiled from her touch and tumbled into the wall.

"How about you mind your business?" he snapped.

She looked hurt, as if he'd hit her. Immediately, he wished he could take the words back. Six was too good for this world, too wonderful and caring for a disgusting piece of trash like him. His habit was fine, so long as it didn't hurt her too.

An apology stuck to the roof of his mouth as he watched her leave for the kitchen. He followed. It was as if she had him on a leash; Boone was drawn to her goodness.

It was dangerous.

Boone looked around the kitchen at Cass, Arcade, and Veronica. Was he supposed to feel something toward these people? He felt nothing. The scotch made him feel appropriately numb, an outsider, just like he was supposed to be.

"Girl," Cass whistled, "what in the hell are you wearing? Did Fox give that to you?"

The Courier shook her head and squeaked that she found the armor.

"It makes me look fat, doesn't it?" Six whined, turning in circles. "Fox didn't tell me that it looked so bad."

Boone frowned. That man let her prance around in something like that.

"Naw," Cass drawled, "you're all tits and ass and sass in that. Those pants look like they're about to penetrate you."

"So, how's Fox?" Veronica interjected, "What's his dad like?"

Six frowned and looked at the floor, her face turning red.

They had sex. He knew it.

"His dad's a tyrant," the Courier replied.

"How?" Arcade pressed, looking up from his book in concern.

"Just a lot of rules," Six mumbled. She was fidgeting; the subject made her uncomfortable.

"And Fox?" Veronica smiled.

"We're on a break," the Courier blurted.

Boone couldn't stop the 'what' that came out of his mouth.

"He was moving too fast," she replied, "way too fast. I'm not in love. I don't want a relationship."

Boone felt nauseous for Fox.

"You led him on," Boone slurred, "broke his heart."

Six glanced toward Veronica, who nodded sagely.

There was a sick fascination in watching the sweet Courier tear up, and the sober person deep in Boone's subconscious told him that he was a monster. Her eyes were turning red and he told himself that he ought to watch what he just did. It was validation that he was right about himself.

"I submit that he's barely known you," Arcade interjected, "for little more than a few weeks. At that point, normal people are still going on dates and getting to know each other."

"People move fast in the wasteland," Cass shrugged.

"At any rate," the doctor frowned, "you have time to think about it. Heartache is part of life."

"The question is," Cass continued, "did you fuck him before all of this happened?"

Six squeaked out a 'no' as Arcade began to berate Cass for being crude, rude, and socially unacceptable.

"So, that fine piece of ass is currently blue-balling," Cass mused, "I wonder how he feels about older women."

"He's mine," Six frowned.

There was a long pause as Cass smirked and took a sip from her moonshine, her stare daring the Courier to take back what she just said. Instead, Six ran off to her room in embarrassment.

Now that she was gone, Boone figured that he'd shuffle off to bed. He didn't want to hear the others bickering.

* * *

><p>Arcade had a feeling that Six would want to talk about what happened with Fox. He gave her a few minutes to blow off some steam before tentatively knocking on the door to her room.<p>

"It's me," he said, "Can I come in?"

The door opened a crack and he took that as an invitation.

"Arcade," Six murmured, "We need to go somewhere so we can talk."

"Um, okay," he replied, "Where?"

"The Tops," she said, "Can you we go now?"

His eyes widened; she'd gotten very serious all of a sudden. Did this have something to do with Fox?

"Uh, sure," Arcade nodded.

Six motioned Rex to follow them as they took the elevator downstairs. They wasted no time in going directly to the Tops, Arcade growing concerned by the minute. He opened the door for the Courier and followed her in.

The greeter called her babydoll and searched them both before letting them through. Six glanced behind him, perking up when she saw a dark-haired man in a cream-colored suit.

"Hey sweetheart," the man smiled, "it's good to see that what happened the other day didn't put you off of the Tops."

"Swank," Six nodded, "I'm here on an official investigation and need access to Benny's room."

Wait, she was taking him along on an investigation assignment from House? Arcade was sure that he wasn't the right kind of guy for this. He preferred to live on the quiet, neutral side of life with his books and his papers.

"Go on up, babydoll," Swank replied, "nothing's been touched. I hope we can see past these issues and work together. Let me know if there's anything else needed for your investigation."

She thanked the chairman, grabbed Arcade by his coat sleeve, and led him to the elevator. The door closed behind them.

"What's this all about?" he asked.

The Courier smiled knowingly and left the elevator, walking quickly down the hallway to a set of big double doors. She waited until the doors to Benny's suite were closed behind them before she turned around with a conspiratory grin.

"I lied," Six giggled.

He was about to chide her for doing something so foolish, but words failed him when she opened Benny's closet. There was a securitron in there.

"Hey! Hi there, good to meet you!" it greeted, "What can I do for you today?"

"What is this place?" Arcade asked, stepping across the threshold after Six.

"This is Benny's workshop," it replied, "when the Tops got renovated, Benny reserved this whole half of the floor for himself. I guess you can say it's my whole world. I've never been out of here that I can remember."

"What do you do here?" Six asked.

"Good question!" it chirped, "I monitor House's networks and decrypt his transmissions. I'm a PDQ-88B securitron, but you can call me Yes Man."

This thing could do a lot of damage if it ended up in the wrong hands.

"What kind of name is that?" Six asked. Her head titled to the side.

"It's what Benny always called me," Yes Man answered, "probably because I'm programmed to be so helpful."

Arcade doubted that Benny was capable of programming a securitron by himself. Whoever did the programming had to have been very smart. Perhaps one the Followers got involved, which was very disconcerting.

"I had the Platinum chip, but I gave it to House," the Courier said, "the army is on standby, but I'm not quite sure what to do yet. It'd be suspicious if I came straight here and didn't stop to drop off the chip."

"Well gosh, Benny had it last time I saw him," it said, "An army like that should be enough to defend Vegas against an army of, I should say anybody. And I totally see what you mean. That would be very suspicious."

"Benny's dead now," Six said, "They caught him at the Fort."

Arcade shot her a questioning look; she avoided his gaze. There was a hell of a lot more going on than she told anybody. How in the hell did she know that?

"Well, if I was programmed to feel sadness, I would feel sad," Yes Man replied, "that is a shame."

"He told me you can take over House's networks with the chip," Six continued, "I've upgraded the Securitrons. Now what? How can we take over Vegas?"

"Then I have to help you if you want it," it replied, "goal number one is to eliminate House and install my neuro-computational matrix onto the Lucky 38's mainframe. The next step is to get to know the region's tribes and see how you feel about them. By then, the Legion should be attacking Hoover Dam and we'll be able to initiate the last phase of the plan."

"Well, I already don't like the Omertas," Six murmured.

Arcade chuckled; though she had no interest in Fox, she certainly held a grudge against the Omertas for drugging him.

"Then they can be eliminated," Yes Man chimed, "Isn't that fun?"

The Doctor wasn't sure about Six's accepting nod to what the securitron just said. The socioeconomic ramifications from killing the Omertas could be potentially devastating for the Strip.

"So, say we want to just accidentally disconnect House," Six asked, "How should that happen?"

Arcade did a double take. He thought she was working for House.

"It makes me feel really dumb to admit this, but I have no idea," Yes Man replied, "I've never been inside the Lucky 38, and neither has anyone else. But he's there, alright. It's the central node of his network."

"I've been there," Six chirped. Arcade added a quick 'me too'.

"You have! Wow, that's amazing," it gasped, "You can murder Mr. House anytime you want. The next thing you'll want is the Platinum Chip. You know, that one Benny killed a courier for outside of Goodsprings."

"What do you know about the Courier that Benny shot?" Six smiled.

Arcade knew that she had her hopes up. For her sake, he hoped that this Yes Man had answers. But at the same time, he didn't want her to think too positively, in case there was no new information.

"I knew she was carrying the platinum chip," the securitron replied, "I knew where she would be and everything. Pretty neat, huh?"

"I'm the courier that Benny shot," Six said. She twirled a lock of hair around her finger, her smirk growing by the second.

"Haha, I know that's not true because you still have a head!" Yes man chuckled.

"I'm serious!" Six protested, stomping her foot.

Arcade laughed outright, earning a glare from the Courier. She couldn't act smooth when she tried; her childish side would always come through.

"Haha, that's not funny, how you got shot in the head," the securitron said, "I feel really bad about how I set you up now."

"It's okay," Six smiled, "You didn't shoot me. Do you know my name?"

"Nope," Yes Man replied, "couldn't decipher your signature on the forms. Now that's some talented encryption skills you have there."

Arcade sighed as the Courier's chin began to quiver. He shuffled over to her and put his arm around her shoulders, leaning over to speak in her ear.

"Listen," he murmured, "a name isn't everything. You're you, and you're my friend. That's something a name can't change."

It sounded cheesy even to his own ears. Arcade never had good bedside manners, a problem that stemmed from an incurable case of social awkwardness. But he'd spoken the truth, and that was something he'd never take back.

Tiny hands fisted themselves into his lab coat as Six drew him in for a suffocating hug. There was deceptive strength in her arms, mirrored by her deceptively strong will. This meeting proved that she wanted what was best for New Vegas.

He was curious about what her conclusion would be.

"Are you crying?" Yes Man interjected, "Did I say something to hurt you? I am so sorry that I did. If I didn't, well then, I'm still sorry that you're crying."

Six shook her head and looked at the securitron.

"I don't remember anything from before I got shot," she said, "not even my name. But listen, if something happens to Mr. House, we will be in touch."

"I'll be waiting right here," it replied.

Arcade followed as Six left, hoping that she'd be inclined to use Benny's mysterious technology for the betterment of New Vegas.

* * *

><p>It was a path he hadn't taken in a while, but Vulpes walked toward his safehouse as if he'd been there just days ago. He braced himself as he slid down the steep hill that led to the old bunker disguised as a sewer grate.<p>

The plan was simple. He would gain access to the NCR's database at Camp Forlorn Hope then run an exhaustive, systematic search for persons matching Six's description in both citizenship records and border towns that did business with NCR. If at any point he was compromised, he could simply sneak off to Nelson and let the blame fall on the Brotherhood of Steel.

This was, after all, one of their abandoned bunkers. They'd left it in a hurry, not even bothering to take their terminals with them. Rather, they wiped all the data, leaving the terminals perfectly set up to spy on some of the NCR's poorly protected information. Vulpes wished that some of his men were less superstitious about technology; they needed more agents capable of terminal hacking.

He wiggled his fingers into the manhole cover's holes, lifted the lid, and began his descent down the ladder into the bunker, making sure to close it behind him.

That was when the smell hit him. Someone died down there.

Vulpes frowned, drew his .44, and began to sneak his way down the ladder. Maybe someone had gotten caught in between Nelson and Camp Forlorn Hope. Maybe, they'd stepped on one of those damned NCR mines.

He reached the bottom of the ladder and looked around. Graffiti referencing the Sierra Madre Casino lined the walls and a headless, stinking corpse holding a canister of paint lay in the far corner of the room. It was just another fool who'd gotten dreams of wealth unimaginable in his head, only to shoot himself in the process.

Vulpes looked down the stairs to the main part of the bunker and sighed when he saw the words 'Sierra Madre' with an arrow pointing toward the bunker's heavy door. How was he supposed to bring Six down here someday for loud, animalistic sex if it'd been trashed by some degenerate?

With a press of a button, the bunker door opened. At the end of the hallway, a radio sat on top of a table, bathed in artificial light. It blasted on full volume some nonsense about the Sierra Madre Casino, and it was already beginning to annoy him. He needed quiet for his work.

Vulpes drew his .45 and aimed it at the radio. In the next second, his pistol was at his side as he grumbled to himself that he was turning into Lanius by destroying things because they annoyed him. He could use that radio in a multitude of ways.

He walked down the hallway toward the radio, shaking his head over the dead man upstairs. As soon as he crossed the threshold into the next room, the door slammed shut behind him. A sweet-smelling, orange gas leaked out of the air vents and his vision began to swim.

Vulpes knew he should kill himself before he was knocked out. He was taught about death before surrender and passed such teachings on to those he trained.

Instead, Vulpes clenched his fist around the lock of hair in his glove, hoping that he'd make it out to be able to see Six again.


	29. Chapter 29

A/n: Short chapter, but stuff is about to go down, my friends :D

* * *

><p>The morning was cloudy, and the night had been unseasonably cold, enough that she saw condensation on the windows of the Lucky 38's vacant revolving bar. It had been a long night of thinking, wondering where Vulpes was and if he would be okay after their strange parting. But during her long think, Six realized one thing; that Vulpes, and, by extension, the Legion, was human. They smiled and laughed, just like the NCR. Though they enslaved people, they were each individuals, and couldn't all be evil. They were even capable of love, an emotion that Six had yet to understand. It was a strange, twisted complication to the black and white morality that she'd seen since she woke up.<p>

She walked toward Jacobstown to get Rex fixed as soon as possible. Lupa's brain wouldn't stay fresh forever; it was important not to waste it, to do good by Lupa and Antony for their sacrifice.

Arcade followed nervously next to her, unable to find a place to put his hands. One minute, they were running through his hair, the next, shoved deep into his pockets. He'd been the one she wanted to go with her; she needed to talk to someone and felt like he was the best option.

They left Freeside and stepped out into the desert, their path taking them toward the beautiful mountain to the west.

"Look," Six sighed, "something's bothering you, and something's bothering me. Let's take turns with this, and come clean as friends. You go first; mine's very long."

The doctor gave a quick, nervous chuckle before running his hands through his hair.

"You can't tell anyone," he said, "because this could get me in a lot of trouble. Let's just say that I know this Dr. Henry from a past that I'd like to forget. If there's any way that I could possibly hide out in the hallway away from him during the surgery, I'd really like that."

"I guess you don't want to tell me what it's specifically about," Six noted.

"No," he replied, "I don't. Not yet, anyway. I'm sorry; this is just difficult for me. So, I guess it's your turn now."

She nodded at him, finding what he said to be fine. Now for the hard part. She'd tell him what'd been going on behind his back.

"I want to tell someone about this," Six said, "It's been bothering me. I think you're the best person to tell, because I know you'll be an adult about it, and I know you won't tell anyone if I swear you to secrecy."

Arcade nodded sternly. He'd kept her secrets before.

"When Fox took me on our date," she continued, "he told me that he was a Legion agent. The necklace he gave me was his ID tag, and it gave me safe passage to the Fort, where Benny ran off to. So, I went there and I met Caesar and I lied to him about destroying House's army beneath the Fort."

Arcade stopped in his tracks, staring at her with wide eyes.

"You lied to him?" he squeaked, "and you went to the Fort all alone? What in the hell were you thinking?"

"Vulpes said I'd be safe with his tag," Six replied.

"Vulpes?" Arcade continued, "Vulpes Inculta? That's who Fox is?"

He was nearly frantic with each new bit of information, and Six figured she'd better say something that'd calm him down.

"Vulpes loves me," she said, "deeply loves me. He told me that he did. He was the one that I saw at Nipton; he's had his eye on me for a while. Caesar sent him away to figure out my name, so he'll be gone for some time. But I don't love him back."

"Oh, sweetheart," Arcade murmured, "I am so sorry that they noticed you."

He drew her in for a tight hug as Rex ran around them in confused circles, barking. Six stepped back and quickly chastised the dog.

"I don't know what you know about Vulpes Inculta," Arcade said, "but he's one of the NCR's most wanted. He's the one that destroyed Searchlight."

"I don't care about the NCR," Six replied.

The doctor shot her a confused look.

"All they want is the dam," she said, "that's it. I need to think about what I'm going to do. I need to plan."

"Okay," he said, "but just what are you planning?" Arcade looked at her suspiciously, as she threw her hands up in frustration.

"I don't know," she sighed, "I just don't know."

It was silent as they made their way up the mountain, the air growing cooler with each step. They rounded a corner and Six froze in her tracks. The pines were right there. She didn't understand why looking at them made her heart ache so much. She didn't love that man, and for most of the time she'd known him, he was lying to her about who he was and how he acted.

So, did he truly love her, or was this some ploy to get her on the Legion's side? Six couldn't know for sure, despite the fact that the desperate look in his eyes had been so genuine.

"I'm guessing this has to do with this pine needles and cone you've got on your dresser," Arcade interjected.

"I could have loved him," she frowned, unwilling to elaborate further on her reply.

But Arcade seemed to know what was going on. He wrapped his arm around Six's shoulder and gently led her away from the pine trees.

With each step away from them, Six felt her heart grow heavier.

* * *

><p>It was night, or at least, it seemed so with the hazy air around him. In front of Vulpes, a frantic voice projected outward from a fountain, an equally maniacal holographic face staring at him.<p>

"Are you listening?" the man asked, "Good. When I speak, you listen. If you say no, or don't listen, that collar on your neck will go off, and your head with it."

He looked down to see that his clothes were gone and in their place was a plain, white jumpsuit. He'd been permitted to keep an odd assortment of his items; Vulpes still wore his gloves, boots, his .44, and his tag. He shifted uncomfortably in the scratchy jumpsuit and frowned. Apparently, he hadn't been permitted to keep his underwear.

A nauseating wave of discomfort settled in the pit of his stomach; it hadn't been the first time he'd been felt up by an older man. His mind began to race with possible things that this degenerate could have done to him while he was knocked out.

"What do you want?" Vulpes frowned.

"That structure you see above the fountain is the Sierra Madre Casino," the man replied, "we are going to break into it. But you can't do it alone. You have to find the other parts of the team."

"I'm not alone then," he noted.

"Around the villa are other collars like yours," the man said, "find them all and return them to the fountain. A word of warning, however: the collars are all linked. If one of you dies, you all die."

So far, there wasn't any indication that this man knew he was a Legion agent. Vulpes was inclined to keep it that way, at least until he could gain an upper hand and threaten him into doing as he said.

"All right," he nodded, "So, find the other three people with collars, and bring them back here?"

He'd keep his demeanor calm, his mannerisms quiet and pleasant. Vulpes needed to know more about the situation he was in before rebelling.

"I've downloaded the instructions and put markers on your Pip-boy," the man said, "so you can listen to my voice in case you can't read."

He looked down at his left arm to see the glowing screen of a pip-boy. He'd always wanted one, but not like this.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"I am Father Elijah," the man replied.

Good. Vulpes always wanted to know the names of his victims. He'd add this one to the list.

"Elijah," he said, "where is my gear?"

"The Sierra Madre has many ways of screening guests for illicit items," the man replied, "your arrival here unarmed wasn't my intention. The system is automated and I have yet to find a work around."

"Some system," Vulpes chuckled, "I've got my .44 and not my underwear. Are you sure this treasure is worth it?" The idea that an automated system had stripped him was comforting.

"I promise," the man laughed, "this treasure will be the heist of the ages. Now, I don't think it is likely that you'll be able to find ammo for that pistol, so I've given you a holorifle. It's propped up against the side of the fountain."

Good. He'd established a sort of connection with this insane captor. Vulpes picked the rifle up, testing its weight and sights.

"Finally," the man sighed, "someone who looks like they know their way around a weapon."

He had no idea. And this man would pay for presuming to control him.

* * *

><p>Word reached Lanius that Vulpes dared to reproduce, selecting among the dissolute a most beautiful mate, who was reported to be naturally servile. While the rest of the Legion appeared happy, the Butcher brooded in his tent, angered by the thought of that pretty little bastard taking a wife. He attempted to take his mind off the news by taking as many slave women as he could. And, as he laid with them, his annoying second thoughts asked if he was jealous. That was when things changed.<p>

Technically, he hadn't done a damn thing wrong. After all, any seed that wasn't spilled in a woman was dissolution and Lanius certainly had lain with a woman, just not in a traditional sense. She'd been a bony, shapeless female, perfect for pretending that she wasn't who she was.

And if she ever told someone that he'd sodomized her, he'd torture her until she begged for death. He would not have anyone knowing that he hadn't been fully cured of his dissolution.

The Butcher sighed and got up from his bed, figuring that he'd better offer a sacrifice to Mars. He'd ask for guidance, a righteous state of mind, and above all else, he would ask for the battle to begin, so he could occupy his mind with the call of war.

Lanius peered into a mirror in his tent and frowned; his golden hair was turning silver at an alarming rate. A small silver streak lay across his crown, and he resisted the urge to pull it out. He turned his head and frowned, knowing that if he began to pluck all the gray, he'd have considerably less hair. There was even white in his muttonstache.

Caesar himself was aging as well, at a much more rapid rate. Lanius feared that the vessel carrying the Son of Mars' spirit would dry up soon and leave him as the successor to the voice of Mars. Never in his life had he dreamed that he'd be destined for such greatness, but he accepted the duty with humility and reverence.

Reverence; it was something that Vulpes lacked. He never sacrificed, never lit a fire, and didn't do so much as venerate Mars in his speech. And to have him so highly ranked was dangerous; surely, it'd bring the wrath of Mars upon the Legion. Everything Vulpes touched became tainted with his irreverence, a cancer that would spread throughout the Legion if it were allowed to continue to grow.

But, Caesar permitted Vulpes to continue to do his part, not even doing so much as to order him to make a sacrifice. Maybe this was his trial; maybe the trial would be passed onto the Butcher.

Perhaps, when the voice of Mars passed from Caesar to him, he'd understand. Until then, Lanius would make sure that he had himself right with the Gods.


	30. Chapter 30

A/n: Thank you everyone for the hits, reviews and favorites. I never thought I'd get this far with this fic, but here I am, and it's all thanks to such a supportive audience. Everything you do is very appreciated.

* * *

><p>It was interesting to look at, red fibers tightly wound around yellow ones, then switching every three rows or so. It had a bit of a pattern to it, but just enough variation that it wasn't quite predictable. They had one like it when she was growing up, part of a pre-war cache that had been very well preserved.<p>

She had been thinking about her family a lot, lately. She missed her parents, missed the way things used to be before Elijah left. And though it'd been a long time, she missed Christine immensely.

"Something's bothering you," a voice said.

Veronica looked up from the place mat she'd been studying intently to see the Courier staring at her across the table.

"A lot of things are," she sighed, "the brotherhood is failing. I've always known that. If we don't change, we'll fall apart or fade away. But I haven't known how to fix it, until now. I think I need to go home."

Six stared at her for a moment, and Veronica wondered if she'd processed what she said. The Courier was sweet, but sometimes, the elevator didn't quite reach the top floor.

"I'm thinking about how to fix things too," Six replied, "Do you want to go now? We can go there together, maybe bring Rex."

"Thanks," she said, "Thank you. Seriously, I will encourage people to name their non-ugly children after you."

The Courier tilted her head to the side and Veronica giggled.

"It was a joke," she smiled, "But seriously, this means so much to me."

Six left the room and wondered down the hallway. Veronica took a sip of her coffee, glad that Six was willing to do what it took to make sure she was happy. She couldn't recall having a nicer friend.

A series of loud thumps startled her from her thoughts. The noise increased in volume, and was almost rhythmic. Then, it suddenly stopped to be replaced with the sound of creaking bedsprings.

"Didn't know you had Fox up here!" Cass shouted from the other room, "Some of us have hangovers, and don't want to wake up to your morning fuck."

Veronica dared to sneak into the hallway, which had quickly filled up with the suite's other curious inhabitants.

The Courier's door burst open to reveal that she'd changed into her leather armor.

"I was putting my pants on," she frowned, giving Cass a pout.

"If you have to jump up and down and wiggle around on the bed," Arcade sighed, "then the pants probably don't fit, sweetheart. And you wore that to meet Fox's dad?"

Six nodded slowly as a look of horror made its way across the doctor's face.

"I don't get what the big deal is," Veronica supplied, "they don't make her look fat; they're just tight. And if she had less of a figure, would it be such a big deal?"

Christine had gotten the same kind of treatment from everyone, just because she was busty, and Veronica couldn't stand to see the girl being picked on for her obviously sexy body.

"Trust me," Arcade said, "this is one situation where a burlap sack would have been a good idea for our Courier."

Veronica sighed and shook her head, knowing that she couldn't win this one. She watched Six go toward her suite and stock up on a few weapons, including a pair of brass knuckles. The Courier holstered a golden gun.

"Whoa," Veronica gasped, "Where'd you get that beautiful pistol?"

Six gave her an owlish look and drew the pistol, letting her look at it. Veronica studied the intricate gold engraving and the portrait on the grip. It appeared to be a saint of some sort.

"I stole it from Benny's suite," Six murmured, "That's the gun that shot me."

She handed the pistol back carefully and gave the Courier an apologetic look. Remembering Six's struggle made Veronica appreciate her own life more, even her dysfunctional Brotherhood. She had an identity, a name, and everything else that went along with it. Six didn't have that in her life; she had what was within these walls, and a man that was completely infatuated with her that she didn't love in return.

"So, you were serious about leaving right now?" Veronica asked.

Six nodded and holstered the pistol that almost killed her.

Veronica quickly walked into the bedroom, grabbed her canteen, and ran to the bathroom to fill it with water, trying hard to stop her hand from shaking as she held it under the cold tap. She was doing this, and maybe something incredible could come from it.

Maybe, Veronica could convince the Brotherhood to participate in helping the Mojave.

* * *

><p>The villa was a maze rather than a viable living space. It was crumbling and not built to withstand the test of time like the hearty buildings of Flagstaff and New Vegas.<p>

Vulpes listened as Elijah told him about the masked men in the shadows that could only be killed by hacking them to pieces. Frowning, he supposed that he'd better find some sort of blade. His revolver and the holorifle would attract attention and wouldn't be very effective.

He walked up to a fountain and pocketed as many casino chips as possible before continuing toward the location of collar number eight. Whoever they were, they were making a lot of noise, all of which seemed to originate from an old police station.

Vulpes entered the door and took two steps forward before his collar began to beep. Cursing, he flattened himself against the door, relieved when the beeping stopped. He knew what that beep meant, and he knew that he'd have to have a word with the lunatic that strapped the slave collar to his neck.

He was a Legionary, not some filthy slave.

"It seems that the signals from speakers, radios and terminals can interfere with your signal," Elijah said, his voice tinny though the pip-boy's tiny speakers, "this is an unforeseen issue. Be careful when you hear your collar beep."

As quickly as the voice came, it was gone.

Taking no chances, Vulpes glanced about the room and shot all of the radios and speakers with the holorifle. He took a tentative step forward to the nightkin in the jail cell in front of him.

The creature was confused and didn't even acknowledge him, but the marker of his pip-boy told him that this was collar number eight. He had to get it out of that cell.

Vulpes turned around and glanced into the adjacent room. It was a kitchen. Quickly, he pocketed some of the old world food and grabbed an old knife that lay on the counter top. The blade was incredibly well preserved; it'd work well against the suited abominations.

He turned out of the kitchen and headed down a series of hallways and stairs to the police station basement. The stairs led him to a series of storage rooms connected by hallways.

A voice came through his Pip-boy, this time not from the man at the fountain. It explained that the nightkin was caged for a reason. Vulpes snorted; of course the nightkin ought to be caged. They were schizophrenic and dangerous. He knew the risks.

At the end of the hallway was a room with a radio on top of a desk. Vulpes shot it while the voice in the pip-boy told him to play the holotape on the desk in front of the jail cell. He glared at the machine on his wrist, aggravated that now that he had one, he was being given orders left and right from strangers.

He made his way back up to the cell as quickly as possible and played the holotape in front of the nightkin.

"Dog, back in the cage," the tape ordered.

The nightkin turned to face him, its eyes regarding him coolly.

"What have we here?" it chuckled, "you weren't who I was expecting. I'm disappointed. Still, even though you're not my intended guest, you take orders well. Why, with that shackle on your wrist and collar around your neck, we may as well be kin."

Absolutely not. He rested his forearm on the top of his revolver, shifting his weight to the side.

"Who locked you in that cage?" Vulpes asked.

"Locked myself in," it answered, "could feel myself letting go. Dog's howling getting louder. I've been trapped in here for some time, then you come along and let me out. Now, I want to know why."

A reasonable question.

"I was looking for someone with a collar like mine," he replied, "Where is your collar?"

"It's close," the nightkin snorted, "Closer than I'd like. Dog's been into things, needs to think before he eats. Now the collar's part of me. Inside. I can feel its electronic heartbeat inside. Now that you're here, it's pulling and tugging like a leash. Interesting."

"That's probably because they're set to the same frequency, resulting in a resonance," Vulpes nodded, "I need to get you out of there."

He stepped forward and began to exam the bars, testing their strength.

"No, I don't think so," it replied, "Even in here, I have more control than you do. I'm not leaving until the one who controls the collars shows, in the flesh. Dog may follow him, but I won't."

"Do you want to die?" Vulpes hissed, "Cooperate, or you're both dead."

He was running out of patience with this dumb creature. Vulpes began to tug on the bars, the plaster ceiling above flaking with each movement. He pondered the wisdom of continuing. What if the ceiling collapsed? These buildings were extremely dangerous.

"Then I'd still win," the mutant chuckled, "I'd rather die than let that old man control me."

"I want my freedom too. You think I like having this collar on me?" Vulpes countered.

"They all wanted their freedom at first," it replied, "Then they realized they could get inside the Sierra Madre. They got greed-blind. No, you'll be just like them eventually."

If that damned creature's life hadn't been tied to his, it would have been dead on the spot for presuming about him.

"I could order Dog to come with me," he said, "I bed he'd obey. You wouldn't have locked yourself in there without some sort of key to let you out. And if you have the key in there, the old man can order Dog to open the cage."

"Dog obeys." it replied, "Why? Do you have some means of contacting the old man?"

Just as he suspected. This creature thought itself smart, when it'd just openly revealed its secret.

"The old man's voice is on my pip-boy," Vulpes nodded.

"You, don't play it. If you do, I will murder you. I will crush your legs until you –"

Vulpes laughed and pressed the play button on the pip-boy. As the man from the fountain's voice played, the beast began to shake its head, fighting the change. After a moment, the mutant was still.

"Master?" the creature called, "Dog will obey."

"Now that you are awake, the key is on you," Vulpes ordered, "find it and toss it to me."

The creature searched around on its body before withdrawing a silver piece of metal from its tattered pants.

"Dog didn't know that was here," it gasped, "How did it get there?"

"Just give me the key," he sighed. So, he could deal with either stubborn and violent, or annoying and constantly asking questions. Both were stupid.

"Yes, Master sounds different, quieter," it said, "Dog doesn't want to be in the cage anymore. Dog will be good this time, dog promises."

The key sailed through the air, pelting him in the chest. Frowning, Vulpes unlocked the door to the cage. If this mutant wasn't able to control itself with something as simple as tossing a key to him, then it'd be difficult to get it to properly to comply to future orders. The will to serve was only half of the equation; a slave had to have the sense to do their job in the best possible manner as well.

"Go to the fountain," Vulpes nodded, "Wait there."

It was a simple order, one that he hoped that Dog would be able to carry out without messing up somehow.

The creature lumbered off, and Vulpes wondered just what the he'll he'd gotten himself into. He had the suspicion that the worst had yet to start.

* * *

><p>They were mistrustful of her, even though she'd shown up with Veronica, and Six was beginning to wonder if the scribe was put outside to search for scrap for a reason. The Brotherhood welcomed her back, but kept her at arms' length.<p>

Whatever kept her family from accepting her didn't seem to faze Veronica in the least. She led Six and Rex toward the elder's chambers, intent on her mission.

The steel door in front of them opened to reveal a large room. In front of them, an older man sat at a desk, narrowing his eyes at them as they entered. This had to be the elder.

"Hello, Veronica," the man greeted, "How goes your mission?

"We'll find out soon enough," Veronica said, "I need to talk to you about something, Elder McNamara"

"This better not be about –"

"Yes, goddammit," Veronica hissed, "it is. You have to hear me out about this. The things I've seen while on the surface have made me have to say something. Other groups are succeeding where we've failed."

"We've outlasted to the end of the world," he countered, "we'll outlast these upstarts."

"Waiting in a hole until everyone else dies?" she quipped.

"If we must," the elder shrugged.

"We're going to die out," Veronica replied.

"I don't see that at all," McNamara countered, "nor do I see someone out there with a solution of our problems."

"How could you?" she pleaded, "you're too scared to look."

Elder McNamara just stared at her.

Six glanced over at the orange map of the Mojave. This was getting very awkward, very fast, and there was nothing she could say as an outsider to try to help.

"Let's go," Veronica sighed, "we're wasting our time here."

The Courier nodded and followed Veronica out to the bunker's entrance, trying to ignore the hateful stares of the others. This place was angrier and tenser than the Fort, and Six knew that if she were to ever come here without Veronica, being killed would be the least of her worries.

Finally, they were out in the desert, with nighttime just setting in. It'd be important to get back to the Strip as quickly as possible.

"I'd slap him around, but he stood at my parents' wedding," Veronica sighed, "Plus, he'd make excuses for me when I slept through head scribe Taggert's lectures. Figure I'd owe him for that. He means well."

"What now?" Six asked.

"I'm not giving up," she replied, "He wants evidence, but he's scared that I'm right. So I need to find the proof, and hold it in front of his face in order to convince him."

They began to walk toward the glowing lights of Vegas, which shone over the rocky outcroppings surrounding Hidden Valley.

"But what could change his mind?" the Courier said, "He seemed like he'd made up his mind."

"I don't know," Veronica shook her head, "It needs to be something to show that the Brotherhood could fail, or that it can do things better a different way. The only thing that'd get his attention would be technology."

"What do you want to accomplish?" she asked.

"That's what I've been trying to ask them," Veronica nodded, "We horde technology, only to keep it out of people's hands. And even then, the NCR's found some. We don't have the numbers to keep going like this, not with the NCR and Legion around. To attract more numbers, we need to have a legitimate role in society."

Six scuffed at a rock with her boot, a small cloud of dust billowing up.

"And how do you want to do that?" she asked, "Do you want to be like the Followers?"

"Yes," Veronica smiled, "exactly like that. They help others, train them how to respect and use technology properly. They train people to be self-sufficient. And this training brings gratitude and sympathy to their cause. Truthfully, they make friends like we make enemies."

"When we're around, we should keep an eye out for stuff," Six said, "If I find anything that looks good, I'll make sure to bring it back to you."

Veronica smiled and put her arm over her shoulder, giving her a quick squeeze.

"I'd like that," she said, "and I really appreciate this. I might not have answers now, but just trying makes me feel like maybe I can make a difference."

Six smiled; she knew exactly what Veronica meant. And, by helping her, the Courier thought that she had everything finally figured out.


	31. Chapter 31

A/n: I figured I'd update now because I'm sure everyone will be off playing Skyrim. I know I will be :)

* * *

><p>It took just one day after visiting Hidden Valley for Six to make up her mind about what she was going to do.<p>

She wore the blue dress that she had on the last time she was in Gomorrah. All eyes were on her, and she knew that she had to keep her cool if she was going to figure out why the Omertas were drugging their patrons, especially someone who was supposed to be a friend of the management.

"I'm here to cash in on a favor," Six told the receptionist, "Tell me what's going on in here."

"All I can tell you is to find Cachino," she frowned, "he's involved in some business that apparently would upset the family."

The Courier nodded and smiled, sauntering off to find this Cachino. It was difficult to believe that her little lie about calling in a favor had actually worked. She began to wander through the casino, looking for someone who looked important. Occasionally, a bouncer would catch her eye, chuckle, and wiggle his two middle fingers at her. They all knew what she and Vulpes had been up to on the couch that one night. Six supposed she ought to feel shame, but nobody had to watch. That was their problem, not hers. Besides, he had only used one finger, so they were completely wrong.

There was a shout in the hallway as a series of loud footsteps drew closer. A short man rounded the corner and stormed up to the Courier, a scowl on his face.

"What the fuck do you want?" he hissed, "I hear you've been asking about me."

This had to be Cachino.

"Well, I hear that you've been doing some business on the side," she said, "Does this have anything to do with the drugging of patrons?"

"What?" he barked, "Business? What the fuck do you mean? You'd better start talking clear, and I mean real fucking crystal clear."

"I hear that you're doing some business that the family wouldn't approve of," Six replied.

"I don't give half a dick about what you've heard," Cachino grumbled, "now get out of my sight before I throw your ass out."

He stormed off, his motions giving away the telltale square shape of a small book in his coat's outer pocket. Six had to have that book. It was probably a ledger of some sort.

Cautiously, she sneaked up behind him in the hallway and lifted the book from his pocket. Cachino was so angry that he never even saw her take it and she ducked into a private booth to read the book.

It was a journal, detailing purchases and trysts that Cachino did behind the Omertas' back, most notably the sale of chems.

Six stood from the booth, gathered the book in her hands, and set off to find Cachino. She didn't have to go far; he was in the next room, watching the dancers on stage. The Courier sat in the chair next to him and ignored his scowl.

"I found a ledger that proves some of your side business," Six smiled.

"Where the fuck did you get that?" Cachino squawked, "Okay, listen, that book could get me killed. So, what do you want? What can I do for you?"

"For starters," she replied, "I want to know about the drugging of patrons."

He let out a grim chuckle and shook his head.

"My advice," Cachino said, "is for you to stay far, far away from that fucker."

"Do you think the family would like to see this?" Six asked, waving the book in front of his face.

"I can't stop you," he sighed, "but I can make it worth your while. Besides, if you get me killed, then I can't stop what the bosses have been doing."

"And what have they been doing?" Six asked.

Cachino began to drum his fingers on the table and glanced around for people who might be listening. He leaned in to talk to Six, his breath smelling of stale cigarettes and whiskey.

"Between you and I," he said, "we can break up what the bosses are doing, and save some lives. I'll give you one hundred caps for the book, as well as information. If you're attached to that cat you've been hanging around, then you're not going to like it. I can tell you that already."

"Let's hear it," she frowned. She already knew the worst about Mr. Fox. Six slid the book across the table to Cachino, who snatched it up and put it back in his pocket.

"The bosses have been working on something," he said, "been arming themselves like an army. They've brought in some specialists, Troike and Clanden. And the time they showed up after your Mr. Fox began to court the bosses. Fox is given run of the place, as if he's one of the bosses. Whatever he's got with them, it's big."

"Do you know what they're planning?" she asked.

"No," Cachino frowned, "just that it's big, and that Nero and Sal are the only two who know the specifics."

Six nodded and Cachino handed her a key.

"There's a key to the Zoara club," he said, "if anyone asks, I gave it to you so you could be near Fox. They really want to keep him happy here."

"I'm going to look into this," she sighed, "hopefully I'm under the radar yet important enough to be able to come up with something."

He nodded and wished her luck.

Six trudged up the stairs to the Zoara club, her face heating up when she saw the couch where Vulpes had fingered her. Quickly, she passed it by, intent on her task. The Courier wandered through a maze of hallways and stairs until she heard someone mention the name 'Troike'. Glancing about the room, Six saw a guard talking to a man that looked like he belonged in Freeside rather than Gomorrah. She waited for the guard to leave before approaching the man.

"Who are you?" he asked, "I didn't do anything. Leave me alone."

"What do you do here?" Six asked.

"I don't see how that's your business," he replied, crossing his arms and looking away.

"Cachino mentioned something about you and guns," she said, "Care to tell me about that?"

"No," Troike replied, "the bosses have shit on me so I'm stuck in my contract. What's he trying to do, get me killed?"

"I'm looking to bust up the operation here," Six smiled, "and if you don't help me, I'll have to report your work to House. I'm one of his investigators."

"Great, so I'm fucked either way," he huffed, "so, I'm stuck helping. Just try not to get me killed here."

"So, what can you tell me about the plan?" she asked. Six had the suspicion that this wasn't about drugging people at all. She'd stumbled across something much more dangerous.

"They've been keeping the guns in the basement," he replied, "I don't know why they're stockpiling them, but it isn't for the good of mankind. I have a buddy in the Republic, in charge of sending arms to the Strip. He marks some containers as food and medical, and fills them with guns. Then, a couple of greased palms let me choose a container or two out of every shipment."

"And how can we get rid of them?" Six questioned.

"I've been working on making some thermite," Troike chuckled, "in case I got in trouble here. It burns as hot as an Atomic Wrangler pussy and can melt through just about anything. Put some of that on the weapons, flip the rigged light switch nearby to set off a spark, and they're gone."

"Give it to me," she said, "and I'll destroy the shipments."

He shrugged and handed it over.

"I'm going to go disappear now," Troike frowned, "I don't want to be nearby when the bosses find out."

He motioned with his eyes where the storage was, and Six casually walked down the hallway to find the utility closet. Behind the steel door lay the crates. Quickly, the Courier poured as much thermite as she could on the shipment before ducking out of the door and flipping the light switch. Six rode the nearby elevator up to the suites.

And if anyone asked where she was when it happened, that's where she was.

She wandered around for a bit and saw another man that seemed out of place. He was well dressed and sober. Was this the next person?

He caught her gaze and stood to shake her hand.

"Hello there," the man smiled, "the name's Clanden. Do you need help with something?"

He looked incredibly normal, but as Six had learned, appearances could be deceiving.

"Cachino sent me to talk to you," she said.

"Cachino?" he asked, "yeah, I've heard the name. Why? Did he need help with room service or something?"

"Uh, no," she murmured, "never mind. Nice meeting you."

Clanden smiled at her and Six fought the urge to run away as quickly as possible. Something was very off with him. Instead, she returned the smile, went back into the hallway, and called the elevator to return to the main floor. Six rounded the corner and walked into the next room, sitting down next to Cachino.

"The guns are destroyed," she said, "now I need to figure out what to do with Clanden."

"They're destroyed?" he laughed, "that'll blow the plans apart. But, Clanden is important to the operation. Kill him if you have to."

Six wasn't one to just kill someone, but this sounded like the Omertas were about to make total war on the Strip. She'd do it to protect the people.

Resolute, the Courier stood and returned to the elevator, breathing deeply in order to calm herself. She couldn't remember ever performing an assassination; everyone she'd ever shot was someone who'd attacked her first. Six walked into the room, and almost cursed. He was facing her. This might not be a clean fight.

"Hello, pretty miss," Clanden smiled, "I never caught your name."

She bit her lip, her hand trailing up her thigh, dragging her skirt with it. His eyes flashed hungrily at each new inch of revealed flesh.

Six drew Maria from her thigh and shot Clanden in the face before he had time to react. Trying to control her breathing, the Courier re-holstered the weapon and made her way to the elevator, back down to Cachino. He looked at her knowingly.

"You move fast," he noted, "now, have a sip of this to calm down." Cachino pushed a cocktail toward her.

"What's in it?" Six asked, eying the drink with suspicion.

"Vodka," he said, "nothing fancy, I promise."

Finding this acceptable, the Courier slammed the drink back, earning a chuckle from the man next to her.

"So, what's the next step?" she asked.

"Now we cut off the head of the snake," he nodded, "Big Sal and Nero have to die. Let's tell them that you have a message from Fox. They'll be sure to want to listen to you. I'll slip you a gun –"

"I've got one," Six interjected.

"Okay," Cachino chuckled, "so we'll go up to have a chat with them. Then, we'll get them. It'll be the only chance we have."

"I'm ready," she said.

Cachino nodded then led her up the stairs to the bosses' room, knocking on the door. It flew open, a scowling man coming face to face with them.

"Cachino," one of the bosses growled.

"This is Fox's girl," Cachino smiled, "she wanted to speak with you all about something."

"Come in," the boss said, "What seems to be the problem?"

He motioned for Six to take a seat.

"You're Sal, right?" she asked, nodding at the tall, tan man.

"Yeah," he grumbled. So the other man must be Nero. The Courier supposed it didn't matter, given that if things went according to plan, both would be dead in a matter of a minute.

"First," Six said, "I need to know the status of the plan."

Sal glanced at Cachino, his glare making the man know that he was unwelcome.

"He's fine," Six said, "his organizational skills could be useful."

Sal seemed to accept this and shrugged.

"Well, as you may know," he nodded, "Caesar asked us to provide a distraction on the Strip. So when he gives the word, we're going to give an all out assault. First, we bomb the embassy, and then we use the guns to kill every last motherfucker on the strip. Then we'll run the place."

"That makes me sad," Six replied, "very sad. I can't let you do this."

A brief look of confusion passed Sal's face before the Courier drew Maria and shot him. In a second set of shots, Nero collapsed to the ground as well. Blood began to pool around them, soaking into the old floorboards.

"I'm going to run a tight ship here," Cachino murmured, staring at the bodies of the former bosses, "don't you worry."

The assassination happened so quickly and easily, giving the Courier a feeling of disquiet.

"What do you think Fox had to do with that?" Cachino asked.

"Probably wanted to hire some mercs from him," she shrugged, "that doesn't sound like the kind of business that he'd become involved in, though. Maybe that was why they gave him the royal treatment. They wanted to try to butter him up."

Cachino nodded in agreement and ushered the Courier out of the room, telling her that she ought to go rest.

But, Six didn't feel like she'd be able to sleep well that night after what she'd found out.

Vulpes was going to have the Omertas kill everyone on the Strip, just like he massacred Nipton. The thought was painful. She'd let that man into her life, a sweet-hearted villain with good intentions for all the wrong reasons. The worst part was that she harbored his identity and made an excuse for him. She wasn't afraid of what Caesar would have done had she revealed his agent's identity. Rather, Six was fiercely and upsettingly loyal to Vulpes.

The good that she just did in helping Cachino take over didn't make anything better because it'd been tainted with making a bad decision.

Frustrated, Six left Gomorrah and stepped out onto the Strip. Gamblers and rangers on leave milled about, some stumbling, others hanging onto each other. To her left, the gate to Freeside loomed, making the Courier glare at the passers by. None of them had a care in the world, thanks to House's clever walls that he put around the Strip.

She wasn't sure what she was going to do, but she had to do something, anything, to make a difference.

The Courier trudged her way up the stairs to the Lucky 38, flung the door open, and then took the elevator up to the penthouse suite. Jane greeted her, but Six paid no mind as she walked down the stairs toward Mr. House.

"There you are," he greeted, "I hear that you've been causing problems on my Strip."

"What do you mean?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"You upset the balance with the Omertas," House explained, "Don't mess with what I've set up."

He knew already, possibly knew that the Omertas were going to do something to the Strip. Perhaps it was some sort of ego trip for him. After all, if he put them down with the Securitrons, House would have the gratitude of the people, even if he'd known about the plan beforehand.

The Courier paced in front of his screen, unable to sit when so many things bothered her.

"Say you keep control of New Vegas after the battle at Hoover Dam," Six said, "What happens next?"

"New Vegas is the remedy to mankind's derailment," he replied, "We will build a new line that goes straight for the horizon. The NCR is a group of people desperate to experience comfort, ease, and luxury; they're a society of customers. Give me twenty years, and I'll have the high technology sectors rebuilt. Give me fifty, and I'll have people in orbit. Give me one hundred years, and I'll have colonies out in the stars, far from this polluted, destroyed planet."

"And in the meantime, you'd rule as a dictator?" Six asked.

"I prefer the term autocrat," he replied, "I would not answer to a board of directors or any such entity. There would be nothing to impede progress. If you want to see the fate of democracy, look outside the windows."

"I disagree," she countered, "Were all of those countries that fought democracies? Because you know they weren't. But the governments all began to get scared and tell people what to do. That made the people scared, so everyone dressed the same way, spoke the same way, and even listened to the same kind of music for a very long time. Maybe everyone just got angry."

"Hardly," he snorted, "it's because the general public is stupid. People in large groups generally are. But your suggestion almost sounded intelligent. Were you suggesting that some sort of cultural stagnation caused tensions, leading to the war? That's rather cute."

But that was right. She knew it had to be. And the people just sat mindlessly while they listened to the people in charge telling them what to do. It led to greed, led to people being lazy, and led ultimately to the destruction of the world.

"So, what would you do about the people?" Six asked.

"Tell them what to do," House replied, "What else? I've lived for centuries, and I have all the calculations necessary to make near-perfect decisions."

"You don't care about the people," Six huffed.

"People, like many other things," he said, "are resources. As the NCR is a resource."

"I don't care about the NCR," she frowned.

"What?" he chuckled, as if mocking her for being dumb.

"I don't care about the NCR," she repeated, "and I don't care about the Legion, or you. Because you don't care that people can't read, that there's nowhere to take a bath, or that people have to scrounge for food because they can't grow any."

There was good that Six could do, even if she had to do something bad to get there. She eyed the terminal to her left and decided to make a run for it.

"What are you doing?" House hissed.

The Courier's shaking hands pressed the button to open the hidden door. Nearby securitrons activated as she ran for the next terminal across the room. With alarms blaring, Six ducked into the nearby elevator, narrowly missing being shot by one of the bots.

The elevator rumbled as it took her down to a basement area and Six flattened herself against the wall. She tried to control her breathing and her shaking legs, but it was difficult. When the elevator stopped and opened, Six was greeted by the sight of a console and what appeared to be some sort of pod.

She approached the console and ordered it to unseal the nearby chamber. In front of her, the pod hissed and opened, revealing a shriveled, skeletal man.

There was no doubt in her mind that this was House.

Her legs couldn't stop shaking as she approached him, tears blurring her vision. The pod rotated his old body so that he could see her with his withered eyes.

"Why have you done this?" he gasped, "Centuries of preparation. So much good, undone."

"There was no good in this," Six cried, "there was no good in what anyone wanted to do. Yes man needs you out of the way."

"Your vanity project," he growled, "doomed to fail."

"It's not for me," she said, "It's for the people. I –"

A sob stuck in her throat as she looked at the pathetic remains of the man that had once been Robert House. The smell coming from him was awful, as if he was half-rotten.

"I'll put you back in your tube," she cried, "we just need the network and you can be fine and we'll make you a new body. I've just got to find someone that can fix it."

Her words dissolved into an endless apology as Six walked back to the console and disconnected him from the mainframe. Scrolling through the menu, she found the option to put House back into the tube and pressed the enter key.

The Courier spared a glance back at House's tube before gathering her courage. Maybe she'd never know her name, but it was obvious that what was going on was bigger than she was.

Like Vulpes said, the whole was more important than the individual. It was time to go see Yes Man.

* * *

><p>One of the suited abominations had one of the cleverest weapons he'd ever seen strapped to its hand. It was something Vulpes would have thought of had he been in a dire situation and needed a weapon of some sort. The weapon was a simple bear trap, held in the palm of the hand. Of course, he had to be careful when removing it from the corpse; this one hadn't been set off yet.<p>

Vulpes was close to the next collar, but he wanted to first see this genius little device.

He began to pry the corpse's fingers from the bear trap, noting their strange texture. The suit was rubbery, the contents within a gel of sorts. There were no bones. Was this thing even human?

Vulpes yelped a Latin curse as the bear trap snapped shut. The damned thing caught the sleeve of his jumpsuit. Reopening the trap to free his clothes, he resolved to not bother with even trying to retrieve one for his own use.

He didn't need to make any more foolish decisions when he hadn't slept in over a day.

Vulpes rounded the corner of the building next to him and wandered up the stairs, cutting a tripwire in the process. Whoever wore this collar was intelligent, creating as many traps as they could. Music from an old radio drew him up another set of stairs to see a ghoul sitting in a chair.

It made sense; the ghoul had centuries to hone his craft in creating traps. Hopefully, he'd want out of the Sierra Madre as much as Vulpes did.

"Have a seat," the ghoul greeted, "and then we'll have a talk." His voice had been unchanged; it was a strange dialect of English that Vulpes remembered hearing on an old holotape.

Perhaps it was British. If it was, then this ghoul was far from home when the bombs fell.

Vulpes sat in the chair, immediately feeling an odd lump under the cushion.

"The Sierra Madre," the ghouls said, "Beauty isn't she? Is it her voice that brought you here? Or have you awoken confused like some of the others?"

Vulpes opened his mouth to speak, but the ghoul interrupted.

"By the way, I wouldn't make any sudden movements, no matter how uncomfortable that chair is," he continued, "the cushion's just for show."

He should have known better than to sit down. Then again, he was sure he could talk his way out of this.

"Better be a shaped charge," Vulpes smiled, "or you'll be killing both of us."

"Sounds like you've done some blue collar construction work in your life," the ghoul continued, "your mum must be proud. Still, get up without my permission, I'll blast your ass so far through your head, it'll turn the moon cherry pie red. So, let's keep this sweet and polite and finish our conversation with no misunderstandings."

"Fair enough," Vulpes shrugged, "please, go on."

This ghoul wasn't just some regular civilian that survived the bombs.

"And that's what I've missed, a rapt audience," the ghoul sighed, "Just because I worked in entertainment doesn't mean that I'm a moron. I just heard my necktie beeping, and that means we're part of a contract. I want out of this contract. And if you put me in it, I'm not going to be too happy. So whatever's going on here, you're taking orders from me, got it?"

"Of course," Vulpes replied, glaring across the courtyard. He wasn't in the position to bargain. But, if the third collar decided they were going to order him around, he'd kill them all at the end.

He looked back at the ghoul next to him. Then again, he might just kill them anyway.

"Good, good!" the ghoul chuckled, "Then we're in business. I may be a betting man but I like it when the odds are in our favor. If you're here with whom I think, then I'd rather have you on my side than his. An ace in the hole. You want to live; I want what's in the Madre, real simple."

Though he was ravaged by time and radiation, there was something familiar about this man's face. He'd seen it before, which meant that he was a well-known person before the bombs fell. And he was possibly British, and was an entertainer.

"Dean Domino," Vulpes smirked.

The ghoul looked surprised for a moment then stood and gave a mock bow.

"Very clever," Dean replied, "how did you know? Don't tell me that the rest of the world is fine."

Vulpes let out a sharp bark of laughter.

"No," he chuckled, "the entire planet was purged in the fire of radiation, and the skeletons of the world before remain. I've seen your face on posters the Vegas Strip."

"My, you are eloquent," the ghoul whistled, "please, stand. Tell me, are you a fellow entertainer?"

Vulpes smiled at Dean Domino, the ghoul crossing his arms across his chest in defense. So they didn't quite trust each other. Good.

"Yes," he replied, "One could say that I entertain at barbeques, garden parties and the like. My face is hidden all over Vegas posters and the surrounding areas as well. And yes, I am a rather cunning linguist."

The ghoul laughed outright and shook his head.

"You're quite interesting," Dean chuckled, "I've had my eye on you since you tried to pick the bear fist off of that ghost hunter and cursed in French."

He'd slipped. Now this ghoul thought he knew French, and Vulpes was quite certain that nobody on this continent spoke the language at all.

"Of course," the ghoul continued, "it sounded like 'merda' and not 'merde'. And judging by the look on your face, you don't know a lick of French, do you?"

Vulpes couldn't lie his way out of this situation. Dean was from the old world; he knew more than he did about it and he couldn't just make up what language it was from. He'd been tripped up by a ghoul, and he hated him for it.

"Let's try a simpler question," Dean persisted, "What's your name?"

He'd been caught cursing in Latin, and Vulpes wasn't about to give the name Fox and ruin his cover, if this ghoul survived to the end.

"Erwin," he replied. So he'd take the name of the original Desert Fox.

"Last name?" the ghoul asked.

"None," Vulpes chuckled, "it's a wasteland out there, full of tribes that come up with all sorts of names. I consider myself rather lucky. Vegas, of course, remains the exception. It was mostly saved by House."

This answer seemed to satisfy Dean Domino, who ushered him toward the entrance of his hovel. They'd make their way to the fountain, and hopefully the old world ghoul wouldn't ask any more questions.

* * *

><p>Erwin, if that truly was his name, had a smile like a set of knives.<p>

Dean could tell that the young man had cleverness in spades, something many of the others had lacked. He wasn't sure if he could trust him or not.

"What do you think this old man wants?" Erwin asked.

"I don't know," Dean sighed, "but he obviously wants the Madre's treasure."

"Perhaps," the man shrugged, "but we live in a world where the currency is bottle caps, and water is the most precious resource. Gold has little to no value among his kind."

Erwin moved like a cat through the rubble, making as little noise as Dean, who'd been there for centuries. It was as if he'd been trained for stealth.

"What is his kind?" Dean asked.

"The Brotherhood of Steel," he replied, "a group that hordes technology in the name of keeping others from using it to hurt themselves."

"Sounds like a religious group," Dean snorted, "Where do you think he's from?" He knew nothing of the world at its current state, which would be important when he decided to spend his treasure.

"Somewhere around New Vegas," Erwin shrugged.

"Vegas?" he smiled, "She's still alive and kicking? What's going on around there?"

"War," the man intoned, "War over the dam. But the Strip is open for business."

Erwin's long legs carried him over destroyed bits of the Villa. He watched the surroundings carefully, and Dean was becoming increasingly suspicious that Erwin was more than just the average guy.

"Who's at war?" Dean asked.

"The New California Republic from the west," Erwin replied, "and Caesar's Legion to the east."

"A reborn Roman empire?" he asked, "Surely you're joking."

"Crucifixion, arena, slavery, and all," Erwin smirked.

A shadow flickered out of the corner of his eye and Dean froze. In his excitement to finally get to know someone who seemed unique, he'd gotten careless. They should have been silent the entire way back to the fountain.

Creeping along silently, the pair rounded a corner of the Villa. Dean watched in muted horror as Erwin drew a kitchen knife from his belt and attempted to sneak up behind a crouched ghost person. The kid was going to get killed that way, and he'd die along with him.

Erwin leaped, covered the creature's mouth with his left hand, and slit its throat with his right. Green gel sprayed out of the opening as the abomination fell down. Dean watched Erwin make quick work of removing the ghost person's limbs. It was methodical, as if it was an action he'd done many times before. He had to remind himself that the world was a wasteland, and the inhabitants therein would likely be capable of merciless slaughter in order to survive.

Dean followed behind Erwin, who sighed and picked up the fallen abomination's spear. He took the time to study the younger man.

Erwin was tall and thin, a pretty boy who would have gotten attention from all sorts of dames in the old world. Dark circles under his eyes belied the fact that he hadn't slept in a while, probably since his arrival. Erwin had a sad, troubled look on his face, and as he sighed for the umpteenth time in a row, Dean had him figured out.

"You're lovesick," he smirked.

Erwin closed his eyes and bowed his head, sighing again.

"I don't see how this is relevant," he replied.

"Oh, but it is," Dean remarked, "you've got a gal you want to return to. Do you really want this treasure? It could be perilous, trying to get it."

"And if I don't, I'm dead anyway," Erwin frowned, "so again, this is irrelevant."

"There's nothing wrong with being in love," he insisted, "Or, is this an unrequited love?"

Dean hid a smirk as Erwin sighed again. He'd crack the kid right open and make sure that he didn't so much as want to collect the dust inside the casino vault.

"I have found the one woman that doesn't have an overwhelming attraction to me being an emotionally stunted asshole," Erwin murmured.

Well, that was interesting.

"But being closed off makes a man deep and secretly lovable," Dean remarked, remembering how he'd dragged Vera's heart through the dirt.

Erwin snorted and leaned on his spear.

"It gets a man what he needs," he replied, "a hundred times over. Buy them a few things, tell them they're beautiful once in a while, and you've got everything you need. They're all prostitutes, if you think about it."

Dean laughed so hard that no sound came out beside air. As he clutched his side, a tear rolled down his cheek. Erwin chuckled alongside him, his fanged smile and lovesick eyes gleaming under one of the Villa's few working lights.

"We're two sick bastard peas in a pod," Dean remarked.

Erwin merely shrugged, as if this were acceptable.

He wanted to ask about this dame that stole the heart of a man who, on all accounts, appeared to be a bachelor forever, but a ghost person rounded the corner.

Erwin gave a shout as he lunged at the creature, impaled it with the spear, and stuck it to the Villa's wall. The man was an animal, pacing in front of the screaming ghost person and studying it like it was some sort of prey. He poked at it with his kitchen knife and smiled ferociously when it grabbed the knife by the blade in an attempt to disarm him.

"What are you?" Erwin asked.

An intelligent reply never came as the creature continued to wiggle and scream.

"Kill it," Dean hissed, "or you'll attract more."

The ghost person broke free of the wall and grabbed Erwin by the arm. A normal man would have been frightened or at least surprised that the abomination was fully impaled and still hell-bent on killing him. But Erwin just smiled his eerie smile, stabbed it where its eye socket would have been, and slashed at its arms until it ceased to be.

"It wasn't in pain," Erwin remarked, "just angry."

He acted as if torturing something in order to study it was acceptable. Erwin was a kind of cutthroat that Dean had only seen mirrored in his own heart.

So, he'd be cautious of the young man. Hopefully, Erwin's wrath would stay affixed on this Elijah fellow.

* * *

><p>Six came back into the suite looking like she'd been crying, and Boone wondered whose head he'd have to beat in. Instead, the Courier insisted that she was fine and demanded that everyone get in the elevator with her, because she had something to show them.<p>

So, they rode it up to the penthouse as Boone leaned heavily against the wall, wondering if House actually wanted to meet them. He was suspicious of the guy, wanting to know why House wanted to see Six alone all the time. Sure, it seemed like he just wanted to keep things a secret and suck up to the Courier, but Boone was very cautious with men around Six. It didn't matter that House was some sort of ancient robot overlord or something; pretty girls like Six needed to be protected.

He was still angry at her for running off to Jacobstown with just Arcade. He should have been there with her, making sure that she'd be safe. But he'd woken up with his head over a trashcan, a hawk-eyed Cass giving him a mothering look that he just couldn't stand.

The elevator door opened, and Boone was the last one to get off. He stared out the window as the others marveled at the fancy suite, following them down the stairs to the left when they were done. The Courier stopped them in front of an old curtain, turned around to face them, and wrung her hands nervously.

"Okay guys," Six smiled, "I want you to meet someone. This is so important, and I want you all to be a part of this."

She pulled the curtain aside and motioned them to enter the next room. Arcade gasped as soon as he saw the gigantic, smiling screen on the wall and began to blather that he would have helped her and that he was so proud.

Boone found himself growing increasingly suspicious by the second as only the doctor seemed to know what the hell was going on. This couldn't be House, could it?

"Everybody," Six called, "this is Yes Man. Benny had him created for the purpose of taking over New Vegas from Mr. House. He's going to help us do what needs to be done for the people here and make sure that the NCR and Legion don't mess with the plans."

Boone heard what she said and was instantly nauseated. She couldn't be serious. What New Vegas needed was people helping people, the kind of help that only the NCR could give. Robots wouldn't do any good.

"Hello!" the screen greeted, "Six told me all of your names, and let me say, it is a pleasure to meet each one of you. Together, we can all make a Vegas that will make everyone happy! Or, not. The choice is up to you."

"Are you serious?" Veronica asked, "You can take over the city with this?" She stared at the screen with a look that was nothing short of awe.

"I don't want to take over," Six replied, "but I do want to make sure that the people here aren't exploited and that they have a fair chance at life."

"Sounds like a good cause," Cass nodded.

Boone stared at the group, shaking his head. It seemed like he was the only one that disagreed.

"We're going to be working on the plan," Six said, "but for now, I just wanted to show you all what I've been up to. You're my friends and I know that this won't be possible without help. So if there's anything you can do or think of, it'd be appreciated."

Arcade walked up to the Courier, gave her a tight hug, and promised to help her as much as he could. Veronica and Cass did something similar, telling her that they were behind her all the way.

But Boone kept his mouth closed, knowing that he couldn't support this.


	32. Chapter 32

A/n: Despite Skyrim and all the plot bunnies it has created, I've got the next chapter! :D

* * *

><p>Her head was incredibly heavy, as if it were being pressed upon by an invisible force from the side of her face. Six groaned and shifted in bed, her legs scissoring between the cold sheets as she readjusted her aching neck. It had been one of the most incredible sleeps that she could remember in her short life of new memories.<p>

The Courier yawned, rolled over, stretched, and stumbled her way out of bed and into some clothes. She was ready to get started with doing what she could for New Vegas.

Opening the door, Six made her way into the kitchen for a quick Sarsaparilla. She was surprised to see Boone at the table, his red-rimmed eyes staring at her.

"Did you sleep?" she asked, "You look tired."

He simply glared at her, his hand tightening on the half-full bottle of scotch next to him. After a moment of silence, he swallowed thickly.

"Why?" he asked.

Six swallowed some of her drink and let out a small burp.

"Why what?" she asked, beginning to comb her hair with her fingers.

Boone narrowed his eyes at her and Six froze. He wasn't playing around.

"You've set up an anti-NCR coalition," he growled, "effectively, you've become an enemy of the state, possibly a terrorist. I want to know why."

"Because the people need a government who cares," Six explained, "the NCR wants the land, the money from the Strip, and the power from the dam. They don't want the people that come along with it. But I don't view it as anti-NCR. It's more like pro-Vegas."

Boone stared at her fiercely; he scared her.

"So, you'll be the leader of this," he continued, "you'll have a nice, cushy life where everyone loves you."

"You know me better than that," Six murmured.

"I thought I did," Boone snapped, "but from where I'm standing, it looks like you're taking the comfortable way out."

She stared at him, attempting to process what he was saying.

"You honestly think that?" Six gasped.

The Sarsaparilla bottle slammed back down on the table, and she could feel her face heating up. She gave up so much to make this decision.

"I took the least comfortable choice," she spat, "I chose to be rid of any chance that I'd ever learn my name, or where I'm from. I could have been given perks from the NCR. The Legion would have had me practically sainted for my service. And I can accept that I'll never have any of those things, because I know that the people here stand a better chance if they are treated with the dignity they deserve."

Boone just stared at her, the vein on his forehead visible. But Six didn't care that he was mad; what he said had been completely out of line. Her arm shot out, her finger jabbing in his direction as tears began to blur her vision.

"Don't you dare accuse me of doing this for myself," Six cried, "You just don't know."

Boone stood from his chair and walked out into the hallway. Six followed him, watching as he holstered his rifle and signaled for the elevator.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm leaving," he replied, "I won't be part of this."

Before she could provide a response, Boone was in the elevator and out of her life. Six knew better than to follow him; he was determined to do what he wanted. The Courier stumbled into her room, fell on the bed, and cried, knowing that she'd lose Vulpes in the same way. He was even more devoted to his cause than Boone was, and it was possible that he'd even be sent to kill her.

It was then that she realized that sometimes, doing the right thing would be immensely painful. Six just hoped that she'd have the strength to see this through to the end.

* * *

><p>Cass had always been a drifter of sorts, finding work with her caravans wherever there was trading to be had. She drifted from bed to bed, getting shitfaced and fucking whomever the hell she felt like having a fuck with. Sometimes, she'd been poor as shit, and others, she had enough money to buy the fanciest bottles of booze in the desert. The only constant she had was the pendant around her neck.<p>

It hadn't been until meeting Six that she found something that she actually felt was worth fighting for. When she'd been more broke ass broke than ever and had the shittiest run of luck in her life, Six had her follow her, and Cass' life had new meaning.

And she'd be damned if she let the kid sit there crying over some washed-up, fanatical NCR sniper.

Yeah, she liked Boone, even took care of him when he was grossly drunk, because it was obvious there was all kinds of shit that was bothering him. But Cass wanted to have her life amount to something, even if it meant that she'd die in a blaze of glory taking on the NCR and Legion.

She watched Arcade and Veronica take turns hugging the Courier and frowned. Cass wasn't one for hugging and happy 'let's be friends' time, never had been. So she turned around and took the elevator up to the penthouse.

Cass walked down the stairs to Yes Man and gave a holler for the bot to wake up.

"Hello, Miss Cassidy," it chirped, "How are you this fine morning?"

"Save it," she grumbled, "Boone left this morning."

"I am sorry to hear that," Yes Man replied.

"Six should have seen it coming," Cass shrugged, "he's NCR. But apparently, she didn't."

"Well," the bot said, "I did see it coming. There was a ninety-seven percent chance that he was going to leave when he found out about me."

She crossed her arms and frowned at the screen.

"So, any other nifty calculations you have up your sleeve that you'd care to share?" Cass drawled.

"There's a thirteen percent chance that Mr. Fox is a Legion agent," it replied.

Cass burst out in laughter, clutching her side.

"Oh," she chuckled, "that's a good one. That man isn't a homo, you know that, right?"

The screen flickered as she righted herself.

"According to my calculations," Yes Man said, "only about seven percent of the Legion is homosexual."

Cass rolled her eyes. Apparently, the robot wasn't programmed to understand if someone was joking or not.

"Anyway," she continued, "I want to know the next step in the plan, so we can give Six something to do to keep her mind off of Boone."

"That's a good idea," Yes Man replied, "The next group to get to know would be the Boomers. They must be really nasty, because I haven't heard anything good about them. They fire artillery at anyone who comes too close to Nellis Air Force Base. But, if they could be convinced to join us, then they could point those guns at either the NCR or the Legion. Wouldn't that be neat?"

"Hell yes," Cass replied, "that's what I want to hear. Sounds like it could actually give us an advantage. Any tips for going about this task?"

"The best probability of success," it said, "is if Six goes with Veronica, because Veronica knows technology and could help relate to the tribe."

Cass nodded and sighed, hoping that it would have been she who could go with Six. Still, if the Boomers were shelling people, then having a large group go would be a dumb idea.

"Thanks," she replied, "I'll let her know about this."

"Not a problem," the bot chirped, "have a wonderful day!"

Cass shook her head and left. Yes Man was way too cheerful for a morning like this. Regardless, she'd let Six know about the next step and send her out with Veronica.

In the meantime, she was sure that she'd figure out something for her and Arcade to do.

* * *

><p>Never before had he been so grateful for his training. Vulpes fought against the constant siren's song of sleep, knowing that he had to fight the hallucinations off by sheer force of will.<p>

Because there was no way that the brahmin in the corner of the basement was real. Vulpes ignored it and looked at his pip-boy, trying to remind himself where his marker was. Apparently, it was right at his feet. He turned in circles in an attempt to see who was in the room with him, but there was nothing, save the brahmin that looked suspiciously like a desk. Vulpes kicked at the flooring and looked for cracks that would be to a secret compartment. Again, nothing. He glanced up at the ceiling and laughed, the sound eerie to his own ears.

"They're upstairs on the first floor, remember?" he said.

Vulpes made his way up from the basement, hoping that the holograms were powered down along with the rest of the clinic. He sighed when he checked their status on the terminal in the lobby. Of course they'd be on a separate circuit; they were probably part of the auxiliary power. Switching to have them patrol the first floor was a gamble, but it was a risk he had to take.

A hologram appeared in the middle of the room, its back turned to him. Quickly, Vulpes sneaked down the hallway and took the back stairs up to the second floor. He drew the holorifle from his back and shot the hologram emitter in the middle of the hallway. Finally, he could breathe a little easier.

Vulpes snaked his way back down the stairs and toward the back of the clinic, where the pip-boy told him. In front of him was a glowing auto doc. The next person was inside it.

He tilted his head at the machine; the noises it made sound like it was malfunctioning.

Vulpes pried the door open with his bare hands. Like hell he'd let it kill the person in there, and himself by proxy.

Metallic arms retracted from the woman inside. As she stepped out of the machine, she looked pained and disoriented.

"Are you all right?" he asked. If she couldn't do her job, they'd all be screwed. He'd be damned if he got this far in life only to die in a run-down casino.

The woman blinked then opened her mouth to speak, her scarred face contorting in pain. Her eyes widened in panic as she put her hands on the scar below her chin.

"So, your vocal chords were removed," Vulpes remarked.

She stared at him for a moment then backed away, glaring at him. For a moment, he felt like giving her a reprimanding slap, but the impulse died as he stared into her eyes.

"I did no such thing, woman," he chastised her.

This woman's eyes reminded him of Six. They were wild, and almost the same color. It made him ache to see her again.

She tried to sigh, the sound coming out as a dry breath of air. The woman felt the scar on her throat then traced it downward to her collar. Her fingers quickly found the lock.

"It's a bomb collar," Vulpes intoned.

The woman jerked her hands away from her collar. She turned her familiar eyes toward him and leaned forward, peering at his collar.

"Yes, we're in this together," he sighed.

She shook her head and pointed between the collars.

"I mean it," he replied, "they're linked. If one goes off, the other goes off. There are four of us, including you and me."

Vulpes leaned forward to look at her scars again. The ones on her face looked older than the one at her throat.

"Those scars on your face aren't from the auto-doc," he said, "still, I don't understand why they shaved you bald. They could have done it in patches."

The woman smiled and shook her head. She made a circle motion with her hands, then mimed what he assumed was a pair of wings.

"Oh, so you're a Brotherhood Scribe," Vulpes said.

She smiled as far as the scars around her mouth would allow.

"Well, I'll just say that I'm of a faction that doesn't hate you," he chuckled.

The woman seemed relieved by that bit of information.

Vulpes handed the holorifle to her and was pleased when she properly shouldered the sling.

"Look, I can't remember the last time I slept," he said, "and I've secured the area. There's no telling what we'll have to do next, and I'd rather do it when I've had some rest."

The woman shrugged and leaned against the doorframe, taking up a sentry position. Setting an alarm on his pip-boy, Vulpes turned around, brushed a skeleton off of a nearby gurney, and curled up with his face to the door.

When he got the collar off, he'd do unspeakably painful things to that old man.

* * *

><p>As she watched the Courier interact with the Boomers, Veronica knew that Six was the perfect person for the job of gluing New Vegas back together. Six knew how to make people happy and was attuned to their needs. This was why she was good for the job. Hopefully, the NCR and the Legion would underestimate her and leave them be until it was too late.<p>

Cass was brilliant for asking Yes Man for the next phase of the plan; this task kept Six's mind off of the fact that Boone left them that morning. And it was great fun, watching the Courier help the Boomers all day. Veronica knew that this wasn't some passing fancy for Six; she genuinely liked helping others.

The Scribe waited patiently outside the building that was infested with ants. She'd done her part, suggesting the proper frequency to the man who gave them the sonic emitter that was supposed to destroy the ants. Six warned Veronica that if she couldn't sneak well, that it'd be better for her to stay outside for planting the device in the ant mound. Veronica wasn't going to pretend to be what she wasn't, so outside she stayed, busying herself with repairing broken solar panels. They hadn't been told a thing about fixing the array, but given the fact that one of their tasks was to re-power the station, Veronica didn't put it out of the realm of possibility.

After a few minutes, the door squealed open and Six walked out into the sun.

"That sonic emitter was perfect," she beamed, "didn't have to shoot a single one of them."

"That's good," Veronica replied, "We should probably get to Pearl and let her know. I repaired the solar array, so that should be helpful to our cause."

The Courier nodded and led them toward the elder's building, a bounce in her step. Opening the door, they stepped into the dim light of the building.

"Hello again," Pearl chimed, "have you been able to help around?"

"Yes," Six smiled, "We've gotten a lot of things done. The ants are gone, and while I was taking care of them, Veronica was able to repair your solar panels."

The old woman smiled at them, her wrinkles becoming more numerous as the expression broadened.

"There is one more thing," she replied, "find Loyal, and ask him about our people's greatest dream. He will tell you what to do next."

Six's head tilted to the side.

"You mean the plane?" she asked.

Pearl pursed her lips and gave a short chuckle. Apparently, they weren't supposed to know about the plane just yet.

"Yes, dearie," the old woman chuckled, "help us fulfill our dream, and we will give you our support."

The Courier nodded, said goodbye, and motioned for Veronica to follow.

They were going to help raise an old world bomber from the depths of a lake. It was then that Veronica knew that she had the perfect piece of evidence that the Brotherhood was behind in so many things. There was a future out here in the Mojave, helping others and doing right. Hiding in a bunker wasn't going to solve any of the world's problems.

And if they didn't see reason with what she was trying to tell them, she wasn't quite sure what she'd do.

A series of beeps roused him from his sleep, causing him to bolt upright and draw the kitchen knife from his belt. Vulpes glanced around the room and saw the collared woman staring at him. He waved his arms in dismissal then reached into his pocket for a box of sugar bombs. In between crunching, he figured he'd at least get to know her name.

"So, you have a name?" he asked, "Let's see if we can figure this one out. Otherwise, I'll call you 'woman' and let it be."

She made an 'x' with her fingers and then shrugged, seemingly unable to come up with a motion for the last syllable.

"I'm assuming it doesn't start with an x," Vulpes intoned.

The woman shook her head.

"So, you made a cross sign," he chuckled, "that's a dangerous hand sign to make, you know, Christy."

She put her hands over her mouth and shook her head.

"Christine?" he asked. The woman nodded.

"Let's get going then, Christine," Vulpes said.

Light footsteps sounded behind him as he led her back down through the clinic.

"It seems that the other two collars knew what was going on," he remarked, "but we are the two who don't. Or at least, didn't. A maniacal old man named Elijah is giving us directions to break into the casino. If we don't do as he says, he'll kill us all with these collars."

Christine stopped in her tracks and Vulpes turned around.

She looked shocked, then angry as she began to nod and follow him.

"You know him," he said, "you're angry at him."

She nodded, her lips tight.

"You'll have to take a number," Vulpes smirked, "he's got a very dangerous enemy in me."

He opened the door to the clinic, chuckling to himself that he wouldn't need to tell the woman to shut her mouth. She followed behind him as quietly as she could muster, but it was obvious that she hadn't been trained for stealth. Vulpes crossed a threshold and his collar made a strange beep. Immediately, he jumped backward out of range, narrowly missing Christine.

She placed her hands on his arms to steady him, an unnecessary action. She stared into his eyes as she motioned between their collars, and for a moment, he was lost in her gaze. It took a sharp tug on his sleeve from Christine to shake him.

Vulpes didn't want to know how he looked at her; the woman violently shook her head and backed away from him.

"You look like someone," he sighed, "that's all. Your eyes look uncannily like hers."

Christine beamed up at him. Had she had her vocal chords, he had no doubt that she'd be making high-pitched woman noises.

The woman motioned between their collars, pointed at the nearby speaker, and made her fingers walk slowly for a moment, then increased their pace.

"So our collars resonate with each other and give us a longer time before the speakers make the bombs go off," he noted.

She smiled and nodded, obviously impressed. Vulpes was considerably less impressed with himself. He was an agent; of course he'd be able to read hand signs. A large portion of his job was based off of reading others.

And the way Christine smiled, sidled up to him, and tugged on his sleeve made him wish that he didn't know that she was asking about Six. He wanted to ignore it, but she kept nudging him.

"She's absolutely stunning," he relented, "with a huge ass, and a rather nice rack too." There. If he said it that way, then maybe she'd leave him alone about it.

Christine gave a silent laugh, pantomimed what she figured Six's measurements to be, and gave him a thumbs up. She then pointed to herself and made the motions of a less curvaceous woman, noting that she was short.

"So," Vulpes smirked, "you're a queer."

The nod that Christine gave was nothing short of proud and he shrugged.

"It's strange that I meet two Brotherhood women within about a month of each other," he noted, "and they're both like that."

He grabbed her wrist and quickly led them through the maze of speakers. When Vulpes looked back at Christine, the color had drained from her face. Her eyes pleaded with him, her hands seemingly unable to make gestures other than to ask if the woman he'd met was short.

"Her name's Veronica," he stated.

Christine nodded, her expression sad. She followed close behind him as he opened the door to the Villa, running into him when he stopped. He supposed that her need to be close to him stemmed from him finding her after her traumatic experience. He could communicate with her, and in him, she found some sense of stability.

If she knew who he was, she wouldn't be so ready to trust him, and certainly wouldn't act so cozy.

Vulpes led her to the fountain then brought up the projector to let the old man know that everyone was in position. His bearded face flickered up in the form of a hologram, the woman behind him glaring.

"Good, well done," the man said, "now for the festivities. The gala is keyed to the grand opening. Lead your team to their positions to start the gala, and the doors to the casino will open. Use your pip-boy for directions."

"You know Christine," Vulpes said, "did you lock her in the auto-doc? Where I come from, we punish those who deserve punishment, not because we feel like it." His sense of justice had been seriously offended.

"I know her," he replied, "and what does it matter to you?"

This man changed from dissolute to being a profligate the moment he collared a free man.

"Now that you know your plan is working," Vulpes smiled, "you wouldn't have the balls to kill us. So, let me tell you what I'm going to do."

"When I find you," he continued, "I will come at you like the flaming fist of Mars. I will eradicate you like I destroyed Searchlight. I will spill your entrails, pin you down, pour gas on you, and burn you alive like I did to the Mayor of Nipton."

There was a glorious silence on the other end as Dean Domino began to laugh. It took a mere glance out of the corner of his eye to know that Christine had given him a wide berth.

"Typical, arrogant Legion," the old man snorted, finally finding words, "if you were NCR, I'd kill you where you stand. As-is, you can treat me like your precious Caesar and obey."

The hologram flickered off, leaving the group in the dim light of the cloud. Dean stared at him, a grin on his face.

"Such violent words spoken so calmly," he remarked, "they sound like a promise, not a threat. Have you really done those things?"

It took a quick nod for the ghoul to cringe and cross his arms in front of him.

"So, what's the plan?" Dean asked.

"I will escort Christine to her position first," he said, "we don't know what that auto-doc could have done, so she may be weakened. Then, it will be the Dog's turn. You'll be last."

"Saving the best for last, is it?" Dean drawled.

"You know the area and handle yourself well," Vulpes replied.

A toxic cloud lay about the place, which was populated by mindless creatures. There was nothing to eat out here of sustenance, no entirely safe places to sleep. He was cut off from his Legion, his assignment, and the woman he loved. Vulpes didn't have time to make pleasantries anymore.

He motioned for Christine to follow him toward the next marker. She followed at a distance, eying him with distrust. Vulpes sighed and turned around to glare at her.

"Did I not save you?" he hissed, "Did I not give you a weapon?"

Christine gave him a wavering smile and followed him at a closer, safer distance. They sneaked toward the switching station, Vulpes finding himself pleasantly surprised when the woman understood his hand signals.

It was surprisingly easy to find the station, its heavy door opening with a loud, rusty groan. Finally, they were away from the ghost people.

He let out a loud, racking cough as puffs of the red cloud shot from the back of his throat. Wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve, Vulpes was surprised to find blood. He'd been holding his breath as much as possible as they walked through the cloud, but it'd still managed to do damage.

Christine tried to open the door to the inner area of the switching station, only to turn around and shake her head. To their left, a fuse box buzzed, blue sparks occasionally shooting outward from the metal casing. As Christine clumsily attempted to open the box with a rubber mallet, Vulpes dug through scrap electronics in an attempt to find something useful.

The door to the box was flung open. Vulpes hesitantly approached behind Christine and peered at the box. Wired twisted about each other in an orgy, some frayed, others sporting dangling fuse switches.

"Well," Vulpes huffed, "there's your problem." He gestured toward the entirety of the box.

Christine's mouth opened in a silent laugh as she approached it. She began to make the repairs to the fuse box, letting out a little hiss here and there as she received tiny shocks. Watching her work, Vulpes wished that she could explain what she was doing as she did it. He'd never had to repair a fuse box, and if he learned how to repair one, he'd know how to properly destroy one. That way, he wouldn't have to potentially sacrifice a recruit by ordering them destroy it with their machete.

After a few tense moments, it came time to test the woman's handiwork. Vulpes walked over to the door and pressed the button to open it, relieved when it squealed and grinded down the middle to reveal the next room.

They walked toward the marker on the pip-boy, shooting speakers along the way. Passing through a set of offices, the pair arrived at a terminal and an elevator. The marker stopped. Vulpes looked between the marker and elevator and stepped forward.

"This is it," he nodded, "you'll be handling the technical aspects of the job."

He pushed a button to open the elevator, tilting his head at its strange design when it opened. It was tiny and circular, meant only for one person. A band of lights encircled the floor and gave off an eerie blue glow.

Christine stumbled behind him, knocking over the desk chair in her haste to get away from the elevator. He tried to turn around, but her tiny fists clutched the back of his jumpsuit and forced him to step backward with her. Glancing over his shoulder, Vulpes was met with teary, terrified eyes. The woman stared at the elevator as if it'd eat her. But a member of the Brotherhood ought to have known that an elevator wouldn't harm them.

That was when he figured it out.

"The elevator reminds you of the Auto-doc, doesn't it?" he questioned.

Christine nodded as her eyes brimmed with tears.

"Weak woman," Vulpes murmured, mentally chiding himself for his weakness too.

Because he knew how she felt. There were things he didn't want to remember, things he didn't want to think about. Vulpes remembered those hot, summer afternoons when he played the part of a woman for his instructor, and it damaged him more than he cared to admit. The thought of another man touching him was thrilling and nauseating and altogether confusing.

He wasn't like that. He wasn't unnatural.

And Vulpes knew that he tried to cover up the experience in his mind with burying himself in his work and countless women. He was equally weak, equally foolish, and there was nobody to reassure him.

"Do not be afraid," he said, "I will find the password, and we will make the terminal on the desk operable."

He was so soft with this woman, probably because she had eyes that didn't belong with her face. And as Vulpes walked back down the metal hallway to search through the filing cabinets for a password, he wondered if he'd ever tell Six about his years as a young recruit.

But he hadn't even told Caesar about it, and he knew Caesar's greatest secret. How could he even tell Six? He was to be in charge of her, to treat her as his wife and teach her where she belonged. He couldn't appear weak.

Vulpes rifled through the doors and frowned. This was not the time to be thinking about such things, but it didn't stop him from crouching to look in the bottom drawer instead of bending over. Frustrated, he pulled the chair away from a nearby desk and sat, putting his head in his hands. Every so often, something would remind him and the memory would come back with a vengeance, telling him that he was filthy.

He pounded the desk with his fist as he shook. He should have thrown that damned woman in the elevator and been done with it. A wicked smirk crossed his face as Vulpes thought that he could still force her.

But, a piece of paper on the desk caught his eye, the handwriting on it a furious scrawl. He read it, discovering that it contained the password to the terminal at the far end of the station. Vulpes stood and walked back down the hallway, paper in hand.

A deep sigh escaped his lips before he entered the office in which Christine waited. He had to focus on his task, and it was the one thing Vulpes could always count on.

He'd let it go, for now.


	33. Chapter 33

A/n: I wanted to say a big thank you to all the reviewers and visitors for this week. I know it's been tough to find the time to read, much less review when it's such a busy time of year. There's holidays, finals, and Skyrim to all contend with, and I'm so happy that you all have chosen to spend a little time with me :)

* * *

><p>The damned mutant didn't want to stay. Vulpes demanded, threatened, and even attempted to reason with it, but it was to no avail. The nightkin's other persona might be willing to listen. It was a huge gamble, but he had to do something. Vulpes played God's voice on his pip-boy, watching as the creature shuddered and shook its head violently before stilling.<p>

God glared at him then looked around at his surroundings.

"So here we are," he growled, "a row of switches all lined up. There must be some trick to it. Now that we're here, what do you expect me to do?"

Vulpes crossed his arms and frowned.

"I need you to stay and operate the switches for the Gala Event," he replied.

"No," the mutant protested, "being trapped in this courtyard while the gala goes off would be dangerous. Besides, being locked in here would be like being locked in the police station, only with no way out."

Vulpes growled in frustration and began to pace, glancing around for some sort of clue. In the fenced in area, a weathered sign hung on the wall. It appeared to be instructions of some sort.

"If that diagram over there holds the details," he quipped, "I can walk Dog through the instructions."

"You think you can figure it out?" God snorted.

Vulpes simply stared at him, daring the creature to insult his intelligence a second time. Of course he could figure out a set of switches.

"You probably can," God frowned, "well, when the event is triggered, we'll see who makes it to the Sierra Madre." He walked over toward the switches and nodded.

Vulpes wasn't sure how he talked the mutant into taking his place, but it pleased him nonetheless. He made his way back to the fountain, following the Villa's twists and turns. It was eerily quiet, without a hint of a ghost person. Perhaps they were scouting, or even preparing for the gala event. Would they even have the sense to know what was about to happen?

He heard the fountain before he saw it, and Vulpes concluded that the ghost people had to have some sort of animal instinct that made them avoid it. It was likely that they saw the hologram adorning the fountain's top tier and took caution, knowing what holograms could do.

Rounding a corner, Vulpes saw Dean Domino leaning against the fountain, his arms crossed. The ghoul looked up when he saw him and nodded. Approaching him, Vulpes motioned him to draw closer and showed him the location on his pip-boy.

"That's an odd area," Dean frowned.

"What about it?" Vulpes asked.

The ghoul sighed and shifted his weight to the other foot.

"That's the thing," he said, "there's nothing about that place. I don't understand what the job could be."

Vulpes nodded. Dean sounded nervous about this task; he'd have to tread lightly to make sure the ghoul wouldn't balk at doing his job. If Dean refused, it would be difficult to talk him into doing what he needed to do. This one was almost as clever as he was.

"We'll find out when we get there," Vulpes shrugged.

The ghoul pursed his lips into a snarling frown, and it didn't take much thought for him to conclude that Dean had rolled his eyes at him. He was fortunate that their lives were linked. Vulpes gave the ghoul a quick, vicious smile before leading him through the door to Puesta Del Sol South.

A ghost person greeted them immediately, letting out a gurgling growl as it thrust its spear at Vulpes. He narrowly dodged it, hacked at the creature, and landed a solid hit on its arm. Green gel oozed from the wound and the incensed creature roared, swatting at him with its spear. Vulpes took the opportunity to wrench the weapon away from his opponent and use it against him. With an arcing swipe of the spear, the ghost person fell into a heap of rubber and gel.

"So, you've done crucifixions?" Dean asked, eying the gurgling corpse. It was obvious that he attempted to lighten the mood by making small talk. Unfortunately for the ghoul, the subject was chosen poorly.

Vulpes dropped down into a crouch and slunk into a dilapidated store. He made sure to avoid the dangling wires within; there was no telling if they were active, or if the current they could contain was lethal.

"Hundreds," he replied. Vulpes rifled around in the store, grabbed a bag of potato crisps, and ripped them open. He tried not to think of the rads he ingested, even as the Geiger counter on his pip-boy began to tick.

"Nails and all?" the ghoul questioned.

"Nails are tough to come by," he shrugged, "so most of the time, we just tie them up."

Dean stared at him as if he expected some sort of punch line. Chuckling, Vulpes supposed he could provide one.

"Electrical poles are excellent pre-made crosses," he smiled, finishing the last of his snack.

The ghoul made a face as if what he said was distasteful. Vulpes simply smirked and led the way up the stairs. Though Dean lived for centuries in the run-down Villa, he knew nothing of the ways of the wasteland. Crucifixion was a norm, something unsurprising among more barbarous deeds.

They made their way over shaky boards to the Villa's other rooftops, drawing closer to the pip-boy's marker. After a quick look, Vulpes saw that the location was a short distance away, across a narrow stretch of rooftop. He set foot on the ancient adobe tiles and they snapped under his weight. As pieces of red stone slid off the rooftop, Vulpes gripped the side of the roof to his right. He turned around to lend a hand to Dean Domino and his offer was met with a reluctant snarl.

After a moment of deliberating, the ghoul gave in to reason and took his hand. Vulpes led him across the treacherous stretch of roofing and only let go when they reached the other side. There was no thank you as the ghoul nursed his wounded ego.

Vulpes gave him time and surveyed the small balcony on which they stood. It was an unremarkable place, save two chords of live wire, sparking as they swayed lightly. He frowned, realizing exactly what Dean's job was.

The crunch of dress shoes on dirty pavement sounded behind him and Vulpes waited for the ghoul to figure it out.

"What's that there, wiring?" Dean asked, "Looks like it's tied to the sound system to the Villa, except for that snipped section. So, I stand there, and tap the ends together like cymbals?"

"Apparently that's the plan," he replied, "Will you be able to do it safely?"

The amount of electricity in those chords could be lethal. Had Elijah been lying the whole time? He should have known they were expendable.

"Look," Dean sighed, "if I strike up the speaker system, there's going to be ghost people all over the place."

Vulpes nodded grimly. Perhaps the electricity was the least of their worries.

"If I clear out all of the ones in the area," he asked, "would that make it safe?"

"No. You want to know why?" the ghoul hissed, "because there's more everywhere. They hear anything, and if there's music blasting through the speakers, it's curtains."

Vulpes shook his head. He was used to being able to send people on suicide missions and had no idea how to reassure the ghoul. Unless–

"The villa has holograms everywhere," he said, "I wonder if I could get some to cover the area."

Dean huffed and began to pace. Vulpes knew that he had him; there was no way out of doing his job.

"Well, yeah," the ghoul said, "if the hologram system still works, then they'd be able to take care of it."

"Then I'll go find some," Vulpes shrugged.

He turned his back on Dean Domino, knowing that the collars were the only thing keeping him from making an attempt on his life.

Examining his pip-boy, Vulpes left markers in areas that could potentially be office areas. He made his way down through the Villa and hoped that his hunch was correct. If there were no holograms to activate in this area, he wasn't sure how he'd be able to talk Dean into doing his job.

He went up a winding staircase to find a terminal on the top floor. With a tense sigh, Vulpes logged in, the old machine taking its time to load the information.

Thankfully, the terminal's menu included a master control for the holograms of Puesta del Sol South. He switched it on and took to the rooftops in order to avoid the newly awoken holograms. From his vantage point, he saw Dean Domino leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette. Vulpes hoped he would finish by the time he returned; it was a distasteful habit, much like chems.

He crossed a plank that led to a recessed roof that contained a bed, and then skirted his way around the side of the roof to the steep incline that led to where Dean stood. Vulpes slipped on the roof and narrowly caught himself. Breath shot out of his lungs as his chest landed on the hard surface, a clatter of broken adobe tiles showering the street below. Groaning, Vulpes struggled to pull himself up. He looked to the left and expected help. Instead, Dean Domino continued to lean against the wall, a cigarette dangling from his crusty lips. With his own strength, Vulpes hauled himself up and ignored the strain in his chest and the sound of the front of his jumpsuit ripping against the sharp tiles.

The dirty ghoul hadn't moved to lift a hand, even while Vulpes had been more than accommodating to his cowardice.

"Fututor," he hissed, glaring at the man who was supposed to be on his side.

Dean smiled and puffed on his cigarette.

"Did you get the holograms up?" he inquired, as if nothing happened.

"Yes," Vulpes clipped.

Dean nodded and flicked some ashes to the side, his cigarette flipping out of his hand. With a sigh of frustration, the ghoul reached down to retrieve it, but Vulpes was faster. He stomped out the cigarette, his boot grinding it to dust.

"It's still risky," the ghoul noted, "I don't know –"

"If you die, then I die," Vulpes replied, "I'm betting my life on this solution."

"Well, yeah, I see your point," Dean frowned, "but try to get into the Sierra Madre without me, and you'll wish you hadn't."

"I don't care about the treasure," he smirked, "all I care about is revenge."

This time, Vulpes wouldn't turn his back on Dean Domino when he left.

* * *

><p>"And you're sure they'll be respectful of this machine?" Arcade asked.<p>

Six rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand, making him hurry down the path to Lake Mead. Was she skipping? If he weren't being dragged along, he would have laughed.

"Pearl would never let it be used for doing bad things," Six replied.

They reached the lake and the doctor hunched over to catch his breath. She was full of boundless energy. He would have envied her had it not been for the amnesia.

"That's good to know," Arcade nodded.

The pair sat in the shade of a run-down boat store and unwrapped their lunches. Six took a bite of her sandwich and began to talk, her voice muffled around mouthfuls of bread.

"I know that people like me," she said, "but I'm going to need your help with setting stuff up. I have no idea what people need."

Arcade finished his mouthful of food before replying.

"I know it's acceptable in the wasteland to talk while chewing," he said, "but in civilized circles, it's considered rude."

Six stared at him with wide eyes and swallowed before speaking.

"I had no idea," she replied.

He shrugged and took a sip of water.

"It's not that it bothers me," he replied, "but I think you want to set yourself apart and appear as professional as possible."

The Courier nodded in agreement.

"So, what do we do for the people?" she asked.

Arcade sighed and took another gulp of water. That was such a loaded question.

"Then NCR is not going to like us telling them to get lost and they'll probably cut off our trading," he replied, "so the first step is to make sure that we don't starve in the meantime. This means replacing what is traded on the Strip with something self-sufficient."

"The Boomers have lived by themselves for a long time," Six said, "I bet they could help."

Arcade finished the last of his lunch and let out a shaky breath.

"They've lived in isolation for a long time," he said, "it'll be difficult to get them to open up that much. Still, I think you could be on to something."

Six stared out at the lake, her eyes unfocused in thought.

"The cocktail lounge is huge," she noted, "and it's covered in glass, and we can change the temperature in there. So it could grow plants."

Arcade chuckled and put his arm around the Courier's shoulder.

"And what would you like to grow?" he asked.

"Grapes," Six replied, "if we grow grapes and make wine, then the NCR will want to trade with us."

He lifted an eyebrow at Six.

"How do you figure?" Arcade chuckled.

"The NCR are a bunch of drunks," she smiled.

He laughed aloud and gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. Sometimes, Six could be unknowingly blunt.

"I wouldn't go around saying that," he said, "though based on what you've seen of the troops on the Strip, your observation could be accurate. Regardless, that sounds like a solid plan, depending on what kind of plants you can grow here. Grapes have been a regional staple of desert areas."

Where people might have ignored what the Courier said and written it off as foolishness, Arcade listened carefully. Sometimes, she was spot on with her intuition, though she never came across as incredibly intelligent. The idea of turning New Vegas into a wine producer could become very beneficial. It made him wonder where she was from, and made him think of his equally strange past.

"I need to talk to you about something," Arcade sighed.

Six looked at him expectantly.

"We're getting caught up in something very important," he started, "and it's been like that since you caught the eye of a Legion agent. And I know I'm just along for the ride, but it's made me think about the past, and how I might be able to help out."

"Well, you've been a great help so far," Six beamed, "and you've kept my secret, so I know we can trust each other."

Arcade sighed and rand his hand through his hair. Sometimes, he wished that he had Six's black and white view of the world.

"Well," he replied, "this is something kind of dangerous. I wasn't always with the Followers. My father was an officer with a group called the Enclave, a remnant of America's pre-war government."

The Courier tilted her head to the side and frowned.

"I know this word," she said, "Enclave. They're bad."

He couldn't be surprised that she knew about the Enclave; anyone who was NCR had to know of them, and had to know what they were about.

"They did bad things," Arcade nodded, "terrorized communities, kidnapped people. Eventually someone stopped them. I was born a few years later in a military base on the coast, called Navarro."

"So, what do you need?" Six asked. She scooted closer to him, her arms resting on her crossed legs.

"The Enclave did bad things," he frowned, "but there were good people at Navarro. Not many of them are alive anymore, but I think they could help in the fight."

Six nodded slowly and took a sip of her water. Arcade waited anxiously for her reply.

"So, they helped raise you?" she questioned.

"Yes," he shrugged, "some of them." The doctor didn't see what this had to do with what he was asking, but he'd follow her abstract train of thought.

"How old are you?" Six continued.

"Thirty seven," Arcade sighed. He didn't like the way the Courier's eyes widened at his age, but now wasn't the time to get his feathers ruffled.

"That means they're really old," she deduced.

He pursed his lips as Six narrowed her eyes in thought. After a long pause, she seemed to have made up her mind.

"Would they help be police after the battle?" she asked, "We've got the robots to die for us. We don't need to send people to die, and I'm reluctant to send the elderly in to fight."

Arcade lifted a brow and thought for a moment. He wasn't sure what they'd want to do. Daisy could be talked into flying the vertibird for official business. Some others could be set up as officers, and Doc Henry could help with Freeside. Perhaps through this incredible plan, they could all achieve something great and make up for the Enclave's past wrongdoings.

"That might be a good idea," he smiled, "but you'll have to promise that you'll keep this a secret from people."

Six nodded and wrapped her pinky around his and gave it a shake, making him laugh.

"We should get this plane going," she sighed.

The Courier stood and he followed her out of the building toward the water. They were close, too close, in his opinion, to the Fort, but Six assured him that they'd be okay if she had Vulpes' tag. She hadn't removed it since it was given to her. Arcade wondered if she knew the implications of what she was doing, and suspected that she didn't.

"So, which one of us gets to test the rebreather?" he asked, "better yet, who gets to swim out into the middle of the lake?" He eyed the equipment in suspicion.

Six shrugged and began to remove her armor.

"I'll take it that you're volunteering," he chuckled, "not that I can't swim or anything."

"I can swim," Six declared.

She shucked off the last of her armor and began to work on the leather pants. Arcade knew that swimming in full leather gear would be a bad idea, but he didn't like the idea of her stripping down in front of the Fort. When Six began to wade into the water, he supposed he was too late.

* * *

><p>The past few days had been uneventful enough to make Caesar want to start pitting his praetorians against each other in the arena. He'd establish rules against kills and maiming; after all, he was pleased with his current set of guards.<p>

Of course, it'd be more entertaining if Vulpes simply came back. They could talk about World War II or the French under Napoleon. Then again, Vulpes was on a Chinese history binge, mainly because they were so unknown; any unbiased books about China had been burned centuries ago amidst a growing anti-Chinese sentiment. As far as Caesar was concerned, China and America were both failed nations, and their history was irrelevant to his brand of nation building. But Vulpes would always argue that it was important to think on the past, and would insist that the ancient Chinese were inventive and brutal warriors.

Caesar almost regretted hiding those books on ancient Rome. He almost regretted telling Vulpes a cursory, edited version of Roman history. But, the Frumentarius still knew that the whole 'Son of Mars' title was a farce, and that it was something he probably shouldn't have revealed. Regardless, Vulpes was one of the few he could trust with almost anything.

Caesar perked up at the sound of a man speaking to a guard outside the tent, picking up small odds and ends of the conversation. Apparently, there was someone swimming in the lake, closer to their side than the shore.

The guard let the messenger in and he waited for the man to address him. After a bow, he began his report.

"Mighty Caesar," he said, "a woman swims in the lake. She wears a mark, and we are unsure of how to proceed."

"I know," Edward shrugged.

The man's eyes widened in shock, as if he assumed that Caesar knew by supernatural means. Caesar made no move to correct him, if only to add to the rumors of his power. A sin of omission, Graham would have said.

"Which direction?" he asked.

"Callville Bay," the messenger replied.

Caesar grabbed the man's binoculars and motioned for him and Lucius to follow. They stepped out of the tent and walked around the side that faced Callville Bay. He wondered why anyone would be out there; the area was infested half the time with lakelurks, and there was nothing of value in the run-down buildings.

Raising the binoculars to his face, Caesar peered out across the lake to see a Follower standing on the shore. He stood next to a pile of clothes and stared out at the water. Following his line of sight, Caesar spied what appeared to be a figure swimming toward the opposite shore. The swimmer reached a spot where they could stand and waded toward the Follower, her long, black hair plastered to her back. And as she finally reached land, there was no mistaking the sight of her ass.

"Lucius," he frowned.

"Sir?" the Praetorian asked.

"I can identify that woman by her ass alone," he marveled.

There was a quick grunt of a reply as the Courier turned around to face the water. Caesar began to admire her breasts, before stopping at the golden pendant that hung above them. This woman belonged to Vulpes, who served him faithfully and was like a son to him. What in the hell was he thinking, staring at the woman like that?

"I thought nothing could bother me," Caesar sighed, "but it seems as if I have surprised myself."

Silence met him, both infuriating and damning at the same time. He was the confessor, Lucius, the priest.

"I want that woman," Caesar remarked, "and that bothers me."

He was the king, coveting another man's wife. In that moment, Edward Sallow knew he was one of the damned, and there was no way to stop it.


	34. Chapter 34

A/n: I'm sorry for such a lapse in updates. It was finals week last week and I've been playing catch up with my writing. Hopefully this nice, long chapter makes up for it. Thanks again for everyone's support :)

* * *

><p>Six had instructions from Pearl as to how exactly to take care of the baby plants that she had been given. Carefully, the Courier misted each one in the hopes that she would have jalapeños and soybeans in a few months.<p>

She snagged a few grapes from the Ultra Luxe earlier, earning very strange looks when she pocketed them and left. Maybe she would be able to grow some from the crunchy seeds within the delicious fruit. If her plan succeeded, there would be plants that could be put outside in the spring.

To her left lay a pile of books. Six read as much as she could from them last night until her eyes unfocused and her body demanded that she sleep. Hours later, she awoke with a face full of book and repeated the process.

Six grabbed the next book in the pile. It was a newly published book, but so battered that she assumed it was well used and very useful. A skull adorned its cover, along with the words 'The Wasteland Survival Guide', and a credit to the authors Moira Brown and Samantha Westin.

She flipped open the book and began to read about the great lengths the authors went through in order to inform people how to survive in the wasteland. And though it was interesting, it told her nothing about how to care for plants, nor did it give her any new information.

Six tossed the book into her pile of books that she had already read and picked up the next one. This book looked boring, and had a very big word in the title. She wasn't sure what 'horticulture' was, but she had to give it a fair shot in case it was what she was looking for. Skimming the pages, Six quickly found that this was the exact book that she needed.

A beep drew the Courier out of her reading and she sighed. Though she had set up her own schedule, it was tough to keep to it when she just found the book she had been looking for.

Putting the book aside, Six ventured out of the cocktail lounge and into the elevator. It hummed as it rolled its way to the top of the Lucky 38, dinging when it reached the Courier's destination. Six stepped out and walked down the short flight of stairs to talk to Yes Man.

"Hello there!" the bot called, "How can I help you?"

"I want to talk about the tribes around Vegas," she replied. The Courier sat down in front of the large screen and crossed her legs.

"Sure!" he chirped, "what do you want to specifically discuss?"

"The tribes on the Strip are all okay," Six nodded, "the Omertas and Chairmen have both cleaned up after their leaders died. And I've been to the Ultra Luxe and they seem to be really great folks."

"You think the White Glove Society are good people?" Yes Man asked, "Because Benny thought they were creeps."

Six laughed and shook her head.

"They left me and Fox alone when we were there," she shrugged, "and the Gundersons are staying there. They seem to be good people, honest."

"Consider them forgotten," the robot said.

The Courier twirled a lock of hair around her finger as she thought about how quickly things were falling into place.

"So," she nodded, "is there anyone else I need to consider?"

"The Great Khans," Yes Man said, "Would you like to hear about them?"

"Yes please," Six smiled.

"They're just," it sighed, "they're a dirty people. They live in tents, like animals."

The Courier gasped and frowned. Apparently, some of Benny's opinions made their way into the bot's programming.

"The Legion lives in tents," she quipped, "and they are very clean and mannerly."

"Well," Yes Man supplied, "they're very rude. But then again, they've been kicked around a lot, so I guess you can't blame them."

"How's that?" Six asked.

"They were one of the tribes that the three families kicked out of Vegas," the bot replied, "and a bunch got killed. Later, they settled at Bitter Springs, and they were still so obnoxious that the NCR had to kill a whole bunch more of them. So, then they settled at Red Rock Canyon. I'm telling ya, nobody likes them."

"I have to try," she sighed, "I can't be the person that killed everyone. I have to give everyone a fair try."

"Then who am I to argue?" Yes Man chuckled, "Free advice; take Cass with you. They'll like her."

Six nodded; this was a good plan.

She just hoped that the Khans were better than Yes Man assumed.

* * *

><p>The path he took to get to his position for the gala was the longest, and Vulpes had to wonder if his position had been changed when he revealed he was a Legionary. From his view in the bell tower, he saw the entire Villa and the long path he would have to take back to get to the casino. And by the time they triggered the gala, there would be ghost people swarming the streets. Though he was the best prospect for surviving an attack of that magnitude, the odds were still against him.<p>

He hadn't come this far to be killed in squalor. There was work for him to complete for Caesar. Most importantly, there was Six.

"I'm here," Vulpes intoned.

He looked dispassionately at the switches that could spell his doom, waiting for Elijah to quit grumbling and hook the collars up to the speakers. After a tense moment, each member of the team signaled that they were ready. Vulpes let out a breath and put his hand on the main control switch.

"Everyone, trigger the event," he ordered, flipping the switch.

The Villa lit up, ancient bulbs awakening and bursting from their damaged wiring. Through the speaker on his collar, Vulpes heard Dean shouting in pain. For a moment, he waited for the inevitable beeping of his collar, signaling that the ghoul had been electrified and killed. But nothing came of it.

He didn't have long to ponder how Dean survived electrocution as a scream tore its way across the empty courtyard. There was a loud clatter and bang as ghost people arose from the sewers, every pore of the Villa.

And they were all headed in his direction.

Vulpes didn't have time to think as he scrambled down the bell tower's winding staircase. Abominations swiped at him and gave chase. As he ran, Vulpes quickly saw a pattern on the walls, messages from people that came before him. They told him to run, each desperate message directing him toward the Casino.

A ghost person grabbed his shoulder and his training instincts kicked in as he knocked the creature off balance and used its own weight to throw it against the wall. Vulpes didn't bother to finish it off, opting instead to continue running toward the casino gate that was so close. He didn't slow down, even as the ghost people thinned out into being absent. They didn't dare go near the fountain, which was next to the casino.

Vulpes ran through the doors to the Sierra Madre as a coughing fit wracked his body. He must have inhaled some of the cloud, and as he tried to inhale fresh air, there was none. It was then that he saw the gas canister at his feet.

He barely registered the pain in his back as he landed in a pile of bones and blacked out.

In an instant, Vulpes was awake again, sitting up slowly and wincing as the muscles in his back spasmed. He looked at his pip-boy and was startled to see that he had been out for hours.

Then again, that would explain the stiffness between his shoulders.

The speaker on the pip-boy crackled as Elijah attempted to set up a communication line with him.

"You're inside," the old man greeted, "good, thought that might be the end of you. Unfortunately, your friends found their way in. You were hit by casino security; it subdues the visitor and moves them if needed. Welcome to the Sierra Madre. This is what the old world stood for, beauty unmatched. It's something even a Legionary can stand in awe of."

He glanced around and guessed it looked all right. This man had never seen Flagstaff; at least the buildings were still intact there, functional, and non-toxic.

Vulpes found himself drawn to the portrait of the woman at the fountain that hung on the wall across from him. It was made of hundreds of pieces of stone; each adhered carefully to make a picture. To the woman's left was the unmistakable face of Dean Domino, mustache and all. They were dressed for a show, the goddess figure of the Sierra Madre standing over them. If he hadn't known about the time the work had been created, he could have assumed it to be religious.

"Now," the man ordered, "let's get this Casino up and running."

There was a brief moment of static before his pip-boy received a list of tasks he would have to perform in order to power up the casino. Opening the door to the casino area, he crept toward a nearby terminal and changed the nearby hologram's patrol route, watching as the blue figure walked soundlessly to the new assignment.

Vulpes took the stairs up to the bar, rounded the corner of the counter, and jumped back when his collar began to beep. In front of him, a speaker sat on the wall. He could shoot it, but he had no doubt that it would draw the attention of the nearby holograms. There was, however, another option.

He launched himself at the speaker, grabbed it, and braced his legs against the wall. With a quick yank, the speaker ripped from the wall, a quick shower of sparks illuminating the small area behind the bar. For a moment, he laid on his back on the rubber mat next to the counter and let go of the speaker. It was comfortable there, the mat designed to cushion the feet of a bartender that would have very long shifts. It felt nice on his sore muscles.

But he had to keep going. Vulpes winced as he sat up and crept his way through the door, down the hallway, and up the stairs. In a small room, he saw a terminal next to an old radio. Ignoring the beeping of his collar, he walked in and flipped the off switch, rendering the old machine and his collar silent. Still, Vulpes felt uneasy as he sat down next to the radio.

Growling, he picked up the radio and threw it against the wall, watching as it shattered. The casino was wearing on him. He had things to do, places to go, and a love to return to and woo.

Vulpes logged in to the terminal in front of him and unlocked the electrical closet in the lobby. As he made his way back down to the bar level, he began to formulate a plan in his mind. There were at least three holograms in the main area, directly in line with his objective. Creeping up to the railing, Vulpes looked down at the foyer and attempted to discern a pattern from the holograms. But there was none; at any point in time, a hologram was always facing the electrical closet.

The glint of casino chips caught his eye on the archway in front of him. Vulpes peered out at the thin beams that stretched across the majority of the foyer and grinned. He just found his clear path to the closet.

He placed a tentative foot on the beam and eased his weight on, relieved when the overhang easily accommodated his weight. Creeping across the beam, Vulpes made his way to the utility closet. Undoubtedly, this was his favorite part of being a spy. There was no problem he couldn't solve, no place he couldn't infiltrate.

Below him, a strange noise sounded as one of the holograms turned yellow. It began to pace and look around; it had sensed him. Cautiously, he inched forward, hoping that it wouldn't see him. Another hologram turned yellow and he froze. To his left, a hologram emitter taunted him. He couldn't disable it without being noticed, but disabling it could be helpful. Glancing around, he weighed his options. If they were people, he would have been able to sneak past them without an issue.

Vulpes bit back a curse as he realized that he would have to jump off the beam to reach the closet. If he powered the casino up, the holograms would go offline, and he would probably be safe.

There was no choice. Vulpes dropped to the floor and darted toward the utility closet, the holograms activating their offensive stance immediately. He closed the door behind him and accessed the nearby terminal, telling it to start up the casino. Flipping a switch, Vulpes held his breath as he waited.

In a moment, the lights to the casino flickered on. The speaker on his pip-boy crackled as the old man set up a connection.

"The casino's starting up again," Elijah cheered, "venders are out, and there might even be something to buy. After you're done there, come back to the lobby and we'll take care of your friends."

"That's no good if the holograms are still up," Vulpes hissed.

"My readings say they're down," the old man replied.

He hadn't expected Elijah to reply, but it was good nonetheless. There was a confirmation that the holograms were down. For a moment, Vulpes sat in the utility closet, back against the wall, as he collected himself. It would be easy to fall asleep there under the vent of the newly awakened air conditioning, but he had to press on.

He still didn't trust the old man not to off him. Cautiously, Vulpes cracked the door to the utility closet and stared out at the casino. Holograms stood at the gambling tables, waiting for customers. They were dressed like the shop venders of the Villa; they had to be non-hostile. Shrugging, Vulpes opened the door all the way and stepped out into the Casino, his hand hovering over the handle of his revolver by habit.

A hologram caught his eye, its soulless face staring at him. Without a smile, it motioned for him to join it at the table. Vulpes declined the invitation with a wave, and the hologram shrugged. It took a quick glance up the stairs to see that the bar was occupied by a hologram as well.

Why was this casino equipped to have a human staff when it was staffed by holograms? He suspected that it had something to do with the builder, namely, the treasure that was purported to be inside the building. It would explain why the Villa was so cheap, and the casino itself was well made.

Vulpes headed toward the lobby, his pip-boy speaker crackling once again.

"Casino's woken up and paying attention us," Elijah said, "looks like your team got moved. Perhaps the casino recognized them as specific guests. Find them, and either change the frequency or kill them. I would prefer the second option. Because of whatever is lining the floors here, the signal shouldn't transfer between floors, meaning that killing one of them wouldn't kill you, provided you escape quickly. Now, dispose of them. We need to get to the basement."

Yet another task. Still, it showed some amount of trust from Elijah that he was using the Legion agent to carry out his will. Then again, maybe he figured that he was used to taking orders and that obedience would come naturally. If this was so, Elijah was sadly mistaken. Vulpes made his name by disobeying; it was one of the reasons that some of the Legion looked upon him with mistrust.

Though it did speak volumes about the rest of the team if Elijah trusted a Legionary over them. Still, Vulpes wouldn't eliminate them just because the old man said so. He would spare or slay whomever he chose.

Looking down at his pip-boy, Vulpes saw the closest marker for the Cantina Madrid. He made his way to the double doors and opened them. There were obvious signs that someone had been through the room recently; the centuries old dust that lined the counters had been disturbed. The marker pointed toward the door on the left, and he tried the handle. It was locked.

To his right, there was an office, which would likely have the key. As Vulpes rummaged around in the drawers for it, Elijah came through the speaker on his pip-boy

"We've got a problem," he clipped, "He's opened the gas valves. One spark, and it'll burn the casino down. You have to get in there and shut the valves off. Do not shoot him; it could ignite the gas."

Vulpes found the key and walked over toward the locked door. It had to be Dog in the kitchens; there was no way that Dean would risk lighting the casino up when he was close to the treasure. The door opened, leading to an elevator. Since the kitchens were on a different floor, he could potentially escape before his collar went off if Dog died.

The elevator stopped at its destination and opened, the smell of gas hitting him full force. He heard Dog inside, grumbling about burning the Casino down and burning the voice out. Crouching down, Vulpes made his way to the first valve in the hallway and shut it off. Dog's voice changed for a moment; he and God were arguing, their words growing more heated with each second.

He found the second and third valves quickly and shut them off as well. The smell of the gas began to dissipate, but any spark would still set off what was already in the room. In front of him, the mutant stood with its back turned; it hadn't noticed him yet.

"The way you're planning on killing yourself is very painful," Vulpes said.

The beast whirled around to face him.

"Master?" Dog questioned, "Not master. You need to go. Dog can't do this."

Its face distorted into a snarl as the other voice vied for control.

"You caused this," God hissed, "coddled him, protected him. Now I have to take control."

He did no such thing; he worked with the half that was willing to do things for him. What they did was their business, and he would only get in the way if they were about to do something stupid. And this was definitely something stupid.

"Dog is going to burn voice out, burn it away," Dog said.

"Do you have any idea how much that will hurt?" Vulpes asked, "Are you even aware that you'll kill yourself?"

"Dog is tired of voice inside," Dog replied, "tired of being in another cage again. Dog wants to end it all."

Vulpes nodded. It did know that it would kill itself.

The mutant shook its head as God tried to take over again.

"Kill this human," God ordered, "If this casino is destroyed, it'll kill the old man. I'll let you feast on this human, Dog. You know they taste better than the ghost people."

"I'm rather bony," Vulpes shrugged, "hardly a good meal."

God growled in rage as Dog nodded and said that made sense.

"You have been given the choice to live in temperance," Vulpes frowned, "and have thoroughly rejected the chance. And you call yourself God?"

"You think your pull is stronger than mine?" God shouted, "I have protected Dog, watched over him –"

"Dog is listening, Master."

God was silent as Dog stared at him with unwavering trust.

"The way you're trying to kill yourself will hurt," Vulpes said, "The fire will ignite the gas in the air, traveling downward to your lungs and burn you from the inside out. I offer you a quick, less painful solution."

Vulpes leaned against the kitchen counter and toyed with the knife in his belt loop. He could tell it to slit its own throat and bleed out, but that would give the possibility that the other half would take over and finish whatever it planned to do.

"Dog is listening," it repeated.

"Take that chain around your neck," he nodded, "grab the ends, and pull slow and hard until you hear a crack." Vulpes stood up straight, ready to make a quick exit for the elevators.

"Yes, Dog can do that," the mutant replied, "Dog hopes to see you soon." It grabbed the chain around its neck, and looked almost happy as it did.

He turned his back on the mutant and made a line for the elevator, not stopping as his collar began to beep. And as the elevator trekked down to the restaurant, the beep stopped as suddenly as it had started.

It hadn't been the first time Vulpes ordered someone to kill themselves, and yet again, it hadn't bothered him in the least.

* * *

><p>The earth out here was red, as if it had been stained by the bloodthirsty tribe that lived around the nearby cliffs. As Six and Cass walked toward the chief's home, catcalls rose up from tents in every direction. She had to ignore the howls and naughty gestures sent her way, though they made her want to run away and cry.<p>

But Cass was with her, as angry, red and tough as the land around them. Six would make it through this with her, and she would do it for Vegas.

"Hey," a familiar voice greeted, "it's that Courier."

Six turned to see one of the Khans she rescued from Boulder City and sighed in relief.

"What's your name again?" she asked. The man looked insulted for a moment until the Courier motioned toward the bullet holes in her head.

"Jessup," he smiled, "You're Six, right? I never caught the name of your friend here." He put his arms around the pair and led them toward the chief's longhouse.

"This is Cass," Six replied.

"So, what brings you around these parts?" Jessup asked. He glanced between the two women, as if he couldn't make up his mind who he liked more.

"I want to learn about your people," the Courier replied. She couldn't tell him everything right away until she knew more about the Khans.

"Well," he smiled, "that can be arranged. I'm sure Papa Khan would like to meet the person who got the NCR to step down from killing us."

Jessup opened the door to the longhouse for the pair and ushered them toward a large, bearded man at the far end of the room. Everyone stared at them, unsure what to make of the newcomers.

"Papa Khan," Jessup greeted, "this is the Courier that saved me and the crew from a bad run-in at Boulder City."

The bear-like man smiled up at Six, putting her at ease. If the leader of the Khans liked her, then she would be okay. She just had to remember her manners.

"So, the cub enters the wolf's den," Papa Khan rumbled, "What do you want, cub?"

"Tell me about your people," she said.

Papa Khan chuckled and motioned to Jessup. With a nod, Jessup grabbed a chair for Six and motioned for her to sit with the leaders of the tribe.

"It's a long story, full of betrayal and glory," he began, "the Great Khans were part of the Strip fourteen years ago, then got kicked out by House. Then Bitter Springs happened. We've been kicked around, but we're a proud people, and we always carry on despite hardships."

Behind her, Six heard Jessup challenge Cass to drink with them, daring her to try to keep up. The caravaner's thick drawl told him to just wait and see, then told him that if he slipped her a mick, she would slip him her shotgun.

"What happened at Bitter Springs?" Six asked, watching as the man to the left of Papa Khan cringed. The old leader sighed and shook his head.

"We thought the NCR were ripe for the picking," he said, "we raided their camps, looted their settlements, and caused chaos for them, thinking that they'd never come after us. But we were wrong. Eventually they cornered us at Bitter Springs. When our children, sick, and old fled through a pass, the NCR gunned them down."

"That's horrible!" she gasped. Six didn't like the NCR, but couldn't imagine that they would do such a thing. It had to have been a mistake. They couldn't have known.

"It's because of that," Papa Khan frowned, "we have sworn revenge against the NCR, and have allied with Caesar's Legion." He motioned to the man to his right who nodded.

"The glorious Caesar has sent me to the Great Khans as a token of our alliance," the man admitted.

Six tried to hide her disappointment. With a Legion agent there, it would be impossible to talk to Papa Khan about an independent Vegas. The agent was staring at her chest and Six fought the urge to cover up. It was then that she remembered that she still wore Vulpes' mark.

"It seems the rumors were true," he remarked, "I'm Karl." He looked at the pendant in confusion, as if trying to make sure that it was real.

The man to the left of Papa Khan took this as the time to introduce himself and offered a warm smile.

"I'm Regis," the man said. His large, soot-stained hand shook hers gently, as if she were fragile. Karl frowned at the gesture and glared at the other man. Perhaps, it was an improper touch. But Six wasn't Legion property, so she didn't understand what was so wrong with a handshake.

"Did the boss train you?" she asked, looking at Karl.

He chuckled at her attempt to keep the conversation low key and shook his head.

"No," Karl replied, "but he's definitely taught each of us something new. There hasn't been more of a genius heading our branch, nor has there been a finer example of someone who is true to Caesar."

She was sure that Karl believed what he said, but how he said it had been so over the top that it made her wonder if he was afraid of Vulpes. Six wasn't sure what to make of it. Even at Nipton, he had been gentle with her, so how could someone be afraid of him if they worked for him?

"What do you think of the Great Khans?" Six asked. She was eager to change the subject.

"They're a tribe of fine warriors," Karl replied, "with many proud traditions and a glorious history. They will be worthy additions to the Legion."

That sounded nice; finally, someone seemed to like the Khans.

"So, what if you petition them for membership as a show of allegiance?" she suggested.

Papa Khan looked at Karl expectantly while Regis shook his head and looked away.

"Join?" Karl chuckled, "Uh, no I simply couldn't. I'm not worthy of such an honor."

Six didn't buy that at all, especially having seen Vulpes go about his business. He was near the top of the Legion, and Karl, as an ambassador, had to have some serious weight.

"I know the Frumentarii," she smiled, "you're an elite member of the Legion. A warrior in the service of the glorious Caesar must be equal to any of the tribe's finest."

"Of course I am," Karl snapped, "That is to say, Caesar has many fine warriors, and I wouldn't wish to compare them to any of the Great Khans."

"Is that because you think they'd come up lacking?" Six asked. She found his lack of faith in his own people to be rather upsetting.

"Enough!" Karl shouted, "How dare you compare Caesar's finest to this tribe of savages? The mightiest Great Khan is scarcely a threat for a Legion recruit! The Burned Man would leave their mightiest shitting themselves in terror. I would –"

Regis turned to stare at Karl with wide eyes as the whole room went silent. For a moment, Papa Khan sat, staring at his hands.

"Kill him," the leader shrugged.

Gunfire erupted and stopped in a second, leaving Karl dead and a shocked Courier splattered in his blood.

"Leave him outside for the dogs," Papa Khan ordered. Two gang members nodded and dragged the agent's body out of the building.

An awkward silence fell over the crowd as their leader fumed over what had just transpired. It took Six all of her strength to muster up the courage to speak.

"You don't need the Legion to get rid of the NCR," she said.

Papa Khan lifted an eyebrow and motioned for her to continue as the other people in the building went back to drinking.

"I'll be honest with you," Six continued, "The Legion doesn't want the Great Khans. Any promises they made were lies; they'd make you all slaves, just like they did with everyone else. I mean, have you heard of any tribes that joined them? Of course not. The Legion absorbs everything."

The leader grunted and shrugged. He must have wanted to get back at the NCR very badly if he was willing to risk his peoples' freedom.

"House created an army of robots and the tools to control them," she said, "I've slipped into the private areas of the Lucky 38 and disconnected House from his system. What I want to do is use this army to kick the NCR and the Legion out."

Papa Khan chuckled deeply, a sad smile spreading across his old face.

"That's one hell of an ambition," he said.

Six frowned and stared at the ground in shame. She knew it was unlikely that they would win. But she had made it this far, and there was no turning back.

"I'll die fighting if it means doing the right thing," she admitted.

The Courier felt Papa Khan's eyes on her, sizing her up and she tried her hardest not to squirm.

"What do you propose?" he asked. He crossed his arms across his chest as he waited for an answer.

"Attack the NCR side of the dam when the fight breaks out," Six replied, "do it for everyone who is sick of the NCR stealing from them. With your help and the securitron army, we can take back what belongs to the people."

The old warrior nodded as he processed her words.

"There is no place for us anymore around here," he mused, "we've caused this for ourselves. We've been too eager to destroy everyone around us and take from them."

Regis looked at Papa Khan with sad eyes and waited along with the Courier for his answer.

"We will attack the NCR when the time comes," Papa Khan declared, "and when the fight is over, we will move on. There's nothing left for us here."

"I appreciate the help," Six nodded, "but you're welcome to stay here."

Papa Khan grabbed her hand and looked her in the eyes.

"You're the only one that would think so," he smiled, "but let it be known that the Great Khans helped usher in a new era of peace for the Mojave. Perhaps we will be remembered as heroes, rather than savages."

Six nodded and frowned. It would have to do.

Now she had everything in place. It was time to begin the next step in Yes Man's plan.

* * *

><p>Like the other areas of the Casino, the theater was dark. Emergency lights lined the walls, illuminating the nearby floors. The doors locked behind him, ensuring that he had to find a key. Vulpes crept toward the main desk and hacked into the terminal, which contained a security pass code. Hopefully, he would be able to shut down any holograms in the future with it.<p>

He made his way to the inside of the theater and his collar began to beep. Vulpes darted toward the nearby bar, hoping that it wouldn't have speakers. His hunch was correct; after all, they couldn't have speakers near the area where people needed to communicate drink orders.

Vulpes glanced about the room, noting the locations of the speakers on the walls. There were none near the center aisle, and in theory, he would be safe there. If he went halfway and found that it wasn't safe, he could run back to the bar and reassess the situation.

He stepped out from behind the bar and walked toward the center of the stage, his collar beeping then stopping within seconds. In front of him lay a music stand, bathed in light. Curious, he picked up the folded sheet of paper and marveled at the dots spread out across the lines on the page. On the bottom right corner, the words 'begin again, but know when to let go' were scrawled in pencil. This was music in written form; it was a lost language, so archaic and compelling.

He had to have it.

Vulpes folded it up and put it in his pocket. He would show Caesar later, and his lord would be very pleased.

A glint of metal caught his eye and Vulpes looked again at the music stand. A key had been behind the sheet music; it must have been for one of the musicians, and it would lead him to inaccessible areas.

The soft sound of footsteps reached his ears and the Frumentarius looked up. Dean Domino stood on a platform behind the stage, his arms crossed.

"So, you showed," he growled, "felt the collar start kicking as soon as the elevator doors opened again. Think you're going to upstage me, here at the Sierra Madre? I don't think so. Now that I'm inside, I don't need you anymore."

Vulpes snorted and twirled the key around his finger.

"So," he drawled, "you're going to stab me in the back now that you're in?" Typical, honor-less profligate.

"You think I'm the bad guy here?" Dean laughed, "I'm not the one strapping bomb collars on innocent folks and flipping the switch. And I'm certainly not the one burning down towns and crucifying the lot of them."

He had nothing to say to him. He would never understand his work; they never did. Six was the only one that tried to understand, and for that, she was better than all of the dissolute combined.

"Time for a little show," the ghoul smiled, "I'll just grab a seat, and watch how this plays from backstage. Security can handle it from here."

"You seem to be eager to kill someone whose life is tied to yours," Vulpes remarked.

"No, the collar feels different now," Dean insisted, "I can kill you and still make it out while security fries you to a crisp. Then my hands will be clean, and the vault will be all mine."

"And what makes you think I couldn't follow?" he chuckled. He was an agent; if he wanted to get Dean Domino, then he could.

"You're trapped down there," the ghoul clipped, "there's no way you can reach backstage, which is where I will be safe."

Vulpes turned the key in his hand, lifting an eyebrow. He just needed to know which door it unlocked. Glancing around, he noticed a door near the end of the stage to his right. That had to be the correct one. Then, he could get the master key from Dean and leave.

"So, all I need to do is use this key in my hand and get back there," he shrugged.

"That key?" Dean stammered, "It won't do a thing."

Vulpes let out a bark of laughter as he caught the ghoul in his own game.

"We flog liars," he purred.

A look of terror crossed Dean's face as he began to pace the catwalk. Vulpes savored it, knowing that there would be more in the following minutes.

"Dammit!" the ghoul cursed, "Where is security?"

In a second, holograms appeared at the entrance to the theater. Vulpes made his way to the backstage door quietly, not alerting a single one of the machines.

Security, indeed.

* * *

><p>Dean hid behind the locked door to the catwalk, hoping that Erwin wouldn't be able to pick a lock. In theory, he shouldn't have been able to; after all, he followed an archaic civilization that never had complex locks, let alone terminals. The kid was like an animal, all fangs and claws, without higher reasoning or the brains to back off.<p>

There was a scratching at the door and he checked for his revolver in the pocket of his jacket. He would shoot the son of a bitch if he had to.

The ghoul didn't dare to breathe as it went silent outside. That was when he heard the distinctive clicking of terminal keys. There was no way that he would be able to hack a terminal. Could he even read?

His question was answered when he heard the lock click open. Dean scrambled to grab the handle in order to hold the door shut, but was too late.

Erwin stood in the open doorway, an eerie smile plastered on his face.

"All right, you're resourceful," Dean admitted, "but it's going to take a lot more than juggling keys and shooting speakers to stop me."

Erwin stared at him, his smile gone.

"Stop playing games," he glared, "I want the key, end of story."

"Alright," the ghoul stared, "look, I'll hand it over. No need to get upset; we can both come out ahead in all of this."

There was a long pause as Dean weighed his options. He wasn't going to give the key to him, not when he was so close to the treasure.

"Give me the key," Erwin insisted.

Dean reached into his jacket to draw out the master key.

"No," he said.

He drew the revolver instead of the key and fired. As his ears rang, Dean stared at Erwin's hunched form, wondering if he took him down.

"Wrong answer!" Erwin shouted. His .44 materialized in his hand, the handle of the gun coming straight for his face.

Sparks flew across Dean's vision as pain bloomed in his temple. He didn't have to lift his hand to where he had been struck to know that he was bleeding. A warm trickle ran down the side of his face and he faintly smelled oranges, a sign that he was probably concussed. He collected himself and looked at Erwin, hoping that he got him.

Blood soaked through the upper arm of Erwin's jumpsuit, indicating that his bullet had some sort of impact. But the kid stood and held his revolver with his injured arm, not even shaking as the blood dripped to the floor.

Dean wished he could say the same of himself; his shaking hand held his pistol at arm's length with Erwin staring it down.

"Mine's bigger," Erwin grinned.

Dean tried to tell himself that he could do it, that he could end the kid's life and just be done with it. But it was something he had never done before. Damn his conscience, damn his morality, and most of all, damn his fear.

"I know that look," Erwin said, "you're terrified. You're terrified of my gun in your face; you're terrified of me."

He knew too much, knew that Dean was afraid that he would get a round off before he had a chance even to pull the trigger. He was royally screwed and he would die in obscurity, just a face on a poster in the ruins of Vegas.

So Dean Domino lowered his pistol, surrendering to the idea that at least Erwin's huge revolver would take care of it quickly.

This action seemed to please the savage, who ordered him to slide it across the floor toward his feet. Dean complied, and all the fight left him as Erwin stopped the spinning revolver with his foot.

"So," Erwin said, "after all of this, you've finally concluded that I am your better. This was no small task for you, and I am very proud."

Dean bristled at his words but nodded slowly, as if hypnotized by the other man's gaze.

"Let me tell you what I'm going to do," he smiled "I will be gracious enough to allow you to live, provided you do something for me. Will you accept?"

He didn't know what the deal was, but his life was worth it. Dean's dry lips mouthed the word 'yes', but barely a whisper came forth.

"Excellent," Erwin smiled, "you will go to New Vegas, and you will use your reputation and name to gain the attention necessary to spread our message."

"The message is this," he continued, "you have been saved from the wrath of Mars because you submitted. If the people of New Vegas submit to the will of Caesar, they will be spared. We will come like fire, purging all the unworthy from the land, and we will come in the thousands. There will be no escaping the wrathful gaze of the Son of Mars."

He lowered his voice to a whisper as he brought his face closer to Dean's ear.

"You can watch the world burn a second time," Erwin purred.

With that, he picked up Dean's revolver and left with the key, as silently as he came.

Dean wasn't sure about the message, but he would do as he was told. If he stayed on the good side of these people, then maybe he would be spared.

And after all, Dean Domino was the only thing that mattered to Dean Domino.


	35. Chapter 35

A/n: Thanks again for the support :)

* * *

><p>Christine wandered around the room, her hands leaving trails in the dust coating the furniture. She glanced toward the bedroom and shook her head as she took in the skeleton of Vera Keys. There was so much tragedy around this casino; if she were a more superstitious person, she would have said that it was probably cursed.<p>

She sighed, took a sip of water, and hummed to herself. As soon as she had finished her part of triggering the gala, she made her way to the casino. Security gassed her; she had awoken in the room of Vera Keys, and auto-doc surgery had been performed to give her a replica of the long dead woman's vocal chords. Thankfully, she had been knocked out for the duration of the surgery. Christine was sure she would never be able to volunteer to use an auto-doc again, even if her life was at risk.

Her collar pulsed as the familiar pull of the Legionary's collar drew closer. Somehow, it was comforting to know that he had made it. After all, he had shown her an incredible amount of mercy and understanding when she had expected none. She would certainly trust him over the schizophrenic mutant or the greedy-eyed ghoul.

The door cracked open and she whirled around to see the unnamed Legionary in the door, the sleeve of his jumpsuit doused in blood.

"Hey," she said, still unused to her new voice. The man blinked in surprise for a second and approached her.

"Hurts to talk," Christine coughed, "Casino security knocked me out and I got put in another auto doc. Thankfully, I was out for that one."

"You sound like the woman from the fountain," he replied.

"Vera Keyes," she nodded, "that's her in the room over there. Had a chronic condition and was fading fast. Apparently, she's the key to the vault, namely, her voice. Dean Domino had an auto doc programmed to replicate her vocal chords as a contingency plan."

Christine sorted through an emergency kit, looking for stimpacks. The man was a Legionary, but he was no fool; surely, he had to accept aid of some sort. There was no way that there would be healing powder anywhere nearby.

He gave her a curt nod and shrugged the top of his jumpsuit down. Grabbing a stim, Christine rounded the corner of the bar and walked to the man's wounded side, trying not to wince when she saw the long lines of scars on his back. Out of respect, she didn't ask how he got them, nor did she ask why he was accepting stims for his injuries.

Instead, Christine carefully swabbed around the wound then injected the medication. Not even a flinch came from the man, but she figured he had endured much worse than a gunshot graze. It took mere seconds for the wound to close.

The Legionary redressed, stood, and entered the bedroom, sparing a quick glance at the skeleton in the corner. He seemed to be looking for something as he opened the closet and sorted through the musty, old clothes. Withdrawing a dress, he shook his head, mumbling that it wouldn't fit.

Christine leaned on the doorframe and sighed. He was looking for gifts for his girlfriend, if the poor thing could even be called such. She felt cruel as she walked over toward the actress's dresser and opened a dusty jewelry box. Inside laid a silver ring, with dark red stones and a diamond in the center. They were arranged to look like a cluster of flowers, and Christine couldn't imagine the ring's worth, even in the old world. Silently, she handed it to the Legionary, watching as he opened the box and stared at its contents.

"I'm going to marry her," he declared, "but we don't give rings. They wear our identification tags."

He pocketed the ring anyway and Christine thought that perhaps this woman that he would enslave would at least have something nice.

As the Legionary turned his back on her and exited the room, Christine knew that she should kill him. There was no way that he was just a grunt, no way that he wasn't going to take this poor woman and force her into a marriage that she didn't want. She also knew that without him, she couldn't get to Elijah. There was no way that she was going to lose her chance after coming so far.

So, Christine would damn the poor girl to a lifetime of service to the Legion. Maybe she wasn't so different from the man in front of her.

"I'm here to kill Elijah," she said, "I've been tracking him down for some time. What he's done here is nothing compared to what he's done in the past. The only way to draw him out of hiding will be to get to the vault. That's when we'll kill him."

She led the Legionary toward the elevator that led to the vault. Hopefully, they would be able to figure out the password together. Unlike the others, Christine wouldn't underestimate his intelligence; this man was cunning, going so far as to manipulate Elijah into trusting him to carry out the important tasks.

"How long have you been hunting Elijah?" he asked.

"Too long," she sighed, "I thought I'd have the chance to settle it, but he slipped away again." Christine clenched her fist. Elijah would pay for everything he had done.

"Sounds personal," the Legionary said.

She sighed and leaned against the wall.

"He cut me off from Veronica," she admitted, "forced us apart. Then, he ended up leaving a trail of crimes across the wasteland."

The Legionary nodded slowly.

"He's become my prey now," he declared.

Her heart froze. Would he take her revenge away?

"You heard of what I have done," he continued, "You know what I am capable of. Allow me to do this in my own way, and be assured that the end will be painful for this man."

Christine shook her head and began to pace. She couldn't do this. She had to see personally to Elijah's death in order to know it actually happened.

"He expects me to neutralize all of the collars," the Legionary reasoned, "and the first two have been dealt with. If you come down with me to that basement, he will know, and we will both be killed."

Shit. He was right. With a sigh, she conceded.

"Good luck," she said, "He's not an easy opponent. I'll try to help through the systems."

He reached into the pocket of his jumpsuit and withdrew a piece of paper. Unfolding it, he instructed her to read the written words at the bottom in front of the nearby speaker, saying that he had a hunch about the password. Shrugging, Christine stepped forward.

"Begin again," she said, "but know when to let go."

There was a beep and a click as the door in front of them unlocked. Looking down, Christine glanced over the sheet music and found that it once belonged to Vera Keys. Could the Legionary really have picked up the music, knowing that it was the password to the vault? This wasn't an average soldier, wasn't even an average officer. This guy was someone important.

"What's your name?" she asked, her stomach knotting he smirked and pocketed the music.

The Legionary turned and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, his face too close to hers as his breath tickled her ear.

"If I told you," he whispered, "I'd have to kill you."

He gave her a slow, uncomfortable kiss on the jaw before disappearing into the elevator.

Christine sank to the floor, knowing that she had cheated death.

* * *

><p>Veronica sprayed a little bit of mist on the seedlings, careful not to topple them with the force of the spray. She promised to take care of them in Six's absence, knowing that she was the one for the job. The Brotherhood did grow plants from time to time; after all, outside sources of food were never a guarantee, especially in the desert.<p>

One set of seeds was soybeans, a source of protein that would be invaluable when the NCR pulled out of the region. There were traders that brought meat into Vegas, but they dealt with NCR rather than the people. House had been foolish to let the NCR in to trade as much as he had. If he knew that the NCR would be a problem, why didn't he set up trading so he could at least feed the people?

Starvation would be a constant threat in the first few months. What little they had would likely be pillaged by soldiers trying to go home, and she wouldn't put it past the NCR to destroy the Sharecropper Farms on their way out. Because of this, the Boomers would be integral to the survival of New Vegas.

Thankfully, the outer areas of Vegas were self-sufficient. They had to pool their resources. New Vegas could protect the towns nearby, while the towns provided food to the city. It could work, in theory.

Veronica sighed and wished that Fox would show up in town again. He probably had many connections that would help an independent New Vegas. It was strange how he disappeared after Six met his family, and even the Courier stayed quiet about what happened. The most that the Scribe gathered from the meeting was that Fox tried to pressure her into having sex, and that his father was, in Six's own words, a 'tyrant'. The whole thing was a shame; they seemed to really be into each other.

The ding of the elevator drew her out of her thoughts. Six bounded down the stairs to her and gave her a big hug.

"How are my babies?" the Courier asked, bending over and making little noises at the plants.

"Doing well," Veronica smiled, "they'll be able to go outside in no time."

She couldn't help but notice that Six still wore the necklace that Fox gave her, but was unsure if she would be willing to talk about him. Sighing, Veronica followed her into the elevator and rode it to the penthouse. They reached the top quickly, the doors dinging and opening. Stepping out, Veronica heard Arcade and Cass talking below, waiting for their little meeting to begin.

"Hey everybody!" Six chimed.

Cass, Arcade, and Yes man greeted them in unison.

"So, I've got an announcement," she said, "the Great Khans will be fighting against the NCR, then they'll be leaving."

Veronica's eyes widened as she wondered how in the hell the Courier managed to pull that one off.

"Oh, good!" Yes Man replied, "Maybe they'll be devoured by giant scorpions. All sorts of things can happen out there."

Six huffed and stomped her foot and the bot immediately apologized.

"My calculations predict," It continued, "that this will give us a steep decline in our resident drug issues. Of course, the Fiends will directly lose their supply of chems, which will probably make them go after lots of folks."

"If they refuse to peacefully rehabilitate," Six shrugged, "then we'll have no choice but to take them out. At least the Khans don't attack on sight. On that note, we'll have to make a list of what drugs we'll outlaw."

Veronica was pleasantly surprised by the Courier's hard stance against chems. There were a lot of addicts out there, especially in Freeside and the surrounding areas. By outlawing certain chems, perhaps they could discourage their use. Of course, they would need rehabilitation programs.

"So," Yes Man said, "There's just two groups left to discuss, the Brotherhood of Steel, and the Kings."

"I know the Brotherhood of Steel," Six shrugged, "and I think they're fine."

Veronica smiled, glad that Six was okay with her family.

"Okay, consider them forgotten," the bot laughed, "along with the projections that say they'll be our greatest enemy. Forgotten!"

"What?" Veronica gasped.

"The projections say that they'll try to take technology from passing caravans," it continued, "as well as making attempts to infiltrate the new government. There's a ninety seven percent chance that they'll terrorize the roads."

She frowned, knowing that it was probably true. But what could they do, short of killing them all?

"Then there's a chance that they won't," Six declared, "I'll do what is right."

With a sigh, Veronica smiled. She was thankful that Six was in charge.

Still, she couldn't quell the feeling that Yes Man's words would come true.

* * *

><p>Something made him twitch in his sleep, and his leg thrashed outward, kicking over the lamp on the nightstand, and flipping on the radio. As Boone cursed and gathered his wits, a voice came out of the normally static frequency.<p>

He bolted upright in bed as a wave of nausea hit him. For a moment, he sat there, gagging and swallowing as he tried to keep his scotch dinner down. He didn't have the caps to get much more. Giving in, he rolled over to face the trashcan and emptied the contents of his stomach.

"We're looking for caravan guards, traders, and couriers," the voice on the radio said, "If you've got the skills to help us out, we'll pay you well. Come to the Northern Passage. We'll be taking a caravan to New Canaan, and we'll need all the help we can get. Once again, I'm Jed Masterson, and I'm with the Happy Trails Caravan."

Boone's body tried to make up its mind if he was done throwing up or not. Eventually, it decided that it was done, leaving him with a lap full of a trashcan of warm scotch and the voice on the radio in infinite loop.

He put the trashcan on the floor and looked around for a bottle of scotch. In between clothes and books on the floor, he found the last, half-full bottle that he owned. He would have to fix that, couldn't run out of scotch.

So Boone searched every drawer, every bag, and every pants pocket he could, and very quickly found that he had no caps left. It was gone, every last bit he had been given for guard duty in Novac, which was barely enough to pay the rent. It certainly wouldn't be enough for scotch.

He listened to the radio again, thinking that maybe he could join the caravan headed toward New Canaan. From the money there, he would have enough to get his scotch, and he would be able to avoid New Vegas when the situation at the dam boiled over.

Boone wanted to be long gone when Six was found out, captured, and executed as a terrorist.

Fighting back a wave of nausea at the thought, he grabbed a pack and stuffed it as full of ammo as he could. The half-gone bottle of scotch followed and he shouldered his rifle, the movement second nature even in his intoxicated state.

He would get to the Northern Passage soon, and from there, Boone really wasn't sure.

* * *

><p>Music played quietly as a man in a cream-colored suit lounged in a chair, a cigar in hand. He exhaled and a puff of smoke exited his mouth, causing the Courier's eyes to water.<p>

"You've been a good friend," the King smiled, "took good care of Rexie-boy. Now, what brings the high-roller to our little home?"

"I've been thinking about what you said," Six replied, "that 'every man is a king in his own right'. I think that means a lot, especially in times like these."

He nodded in agreement, sipped some of his whiskey, and took another puff on his cigar.

"We've got a problem with that," he sighed, blowing smoke to the side.

"Two of our citizens have been attacked," the King continued, "and we're sure that the NCR in these parts had something to do with it."

Six frowned, realizing that the war for New Vegas had been going on for a while, and that she was just a newcomer.

"Where are they?" she asked.

"The Mormon fort," he replied, "Their names are Roy and Wayne. Julie Farkas has been taking care of them. Those Followers, they're good people. Now, what was this you wanted to discuss?"

"I can't," she protested, "not if there's stuff going on right now. I have no right to ask."

The King arched a brow at her and shook his head.

"Well," he shrugged, "if you're thinking of looking in to it for me, that's mighty kind of you."

"I am," Six declared.

She stood and bumped the table, making the King scramble to steady his drink. Her chair scraped against the old laminate flooring and nearby gangsters stared in her direction. They shook their heads, murmuring about the crazy broad with painted-on armor.

But Six didn't care. She made her way to the old Mormon fort, unmindful of the stares sent her way. Opening the large, wooden doors, the Courier stepped foot inside the fort. She caught the gaze of Julie Farkas, who approached her cautiously, as if she didn't want to speak with her.

"I'm investigating something," Six said, "and I need to speak with Roy and Wayne."

Julie looked shocked and led the Courier to a tent on the near corner of the premises. Six stepped into the tent, trying not to hold her breath. It had trapped all of the musty air from the desert along with the smell of old wounds and the unmistakable smell of the seediest areas of Freeside. A battered old man sat in a chair, his arm in a sling. Next to him lay a younger man on a greasy mattress, his face swollen and nearly unrecognizable from bruises. They both looked at her with distrust, and the Courier felt terrible. Things like this shouldn't be happening.

"The King sent me to look into your attack," Six said. The men straightened up right away.

"How can I help?" the old man asked, "I'll do anything to get the bastards who did this."

"Do you remember anything about the people who attacked you?" Six questioned.

"Not much," he shrugged, "they were young, though, at least half my age, if not more."

That helped somewhat. Freeside's population was aging, so it narrowed down the list.

"One of the guys," the younger man chimed in, "He called one of the other guys by name. It was Lou-something."

He scratched his head for a while as he tried to remember.

"Lou-tenant," he declared, smiling then wincing as the motion hurt his face.

"He probably said 'lieutenant', Wayne," the old man groused.

"Oh, yeah," Roy chuckled, "that makes sense." His face began to turn red.

Six thanked them and promised the men that she would get to the bottom of the assault. She turned to leave, and Julie frowned. The doctor led her out of the tent by the elbow and took her to the side where they could talk privately.

"I'm not sure what to make of this," Julie explained, "a friend of mine, Elizabeth Kieran, has moved the NCR soup kitchen to the west a little ways. The tables outside were too much to handle out in the open. Look, Liz is a good friend, and I know that she would never support this. If it is the NCR, then it's not her. You should try to go to talk to her. Mention me if you can't get her to open up. There's something strange going on with all of this."

"Like what?" Six asked.

Julie sighed and glanced around; making sure that nobody was looking.

"Look," she murmured, "it's obvious that the NCR is involved in this. If they are, then Liz could get in trouble. I don't like getting involved in fights, but this is important."

Six nodded and promised that she'd take care of this as discreetly as possible. Julie was a good person, taking care of the people of Freeside. She didn't need to worry about more things.

"By the way," Julie asked, "how is Fox doing?"

The Courier furrowed her brow at the question and crossed her arms.

"I'm not sure," she replied, "Why do you ask?"

Julie held her hands up in a defensive posture and backed away.

"Oh, nothing. Just curious," she replied, "Anyway, I should get going to check on patients. We had a new birth last night, a beautiful boy with black hair, and the bluest eyes."

"I bet he's adorable," Six smiled, though she realized that she'd never seen a baby in person. She'd come across pictures, but the Courier learned quickly that a picture didn't mean much.

"He is," the doctor said, "apparently looks like his father, but we'll never know. It was a one night stand."

Julie stepped forward, getting into her personal space. Frowning, she leaned over to speak close to her face.

"You really have to watch the men around here," she insisted, giving Six a pointed look.

The Courier nodded and stepped back. In an instant, Julie Farkas was normal again, smiling and telling her to be safe out there.

She wasn't dumb; she understood what Julie was trying to say. Each question and statement was inter-related, and Six had no doubt that it was a warning. Julie wanted her to stay away from Fox because he'd get her pregnant and leave her, just like he left the other woman.

Vulpes said he loved her, but Six couldn't be sure. How many women had he said that he loved? How many of them did he lie to? And she'd almost gotten caught up in it. The thought was nauseating. Her vision blurred as tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. Looking down at Vulpes' pendant, Six told herself that she was foolish for crying over a legionary.

Shaking her head, Six was determined to continue her investigation. She walked toward the old train station, kicking at rocks on the way and trying not to pout. Lifting her head, the Courier saw two armed men flanking the entrance to a building. She approached them and they tensed up.

"What's the password?" one asked.

This had to be the NCR operation.

"I'm here to see the Major, on urgent business," Six said.

The men looked at each other then nodded. Opening the door, the man on the left told her to go in. The smell of food wafted toward the Courier, making her smile. Various people she had seen around town waited in line while others stood off to the side and gnawed on mantis legs.

A woman standing behind the counter caught her eye and smiled brightly. She was the only woman working there; she had to be Elizabeth Kieran.

"Welcome," she greeted, "there's free food and water here for any citizen of the NCR."

She was tall and tanned, her sandy hair cut into a short, military regulation cut. Though muscular, the woman looked like a kid in grown up clothes; she had no figure, and a band of freckles ran across the bridge of her nose. Perhaps this was why the Legion didn't take the NCR seriously; this woman, though probably qualified for her station, looked harmless, almost cute. Six was positive that she fought hard to be taken seriously and sympathized.

"Do you serve food to the locals as well?" Six asked.

Major Kieran gave her a sympathetic look and sighed.

"No," she replied, "Did you have a friend you wanted to bring in?"

In that moment, the Courier knew that if she said yes, she would be given extra food for someone who wasn't NCR.

"I'm just wondering why you don't serve locals," she shrugged.

The Major pursed her lips as she handed food to someone in line.

"That's not a topic we discuss," she frowned.

"Julie Farkas told me to ask," Six insisted, "She said it was important."

"You know Julie?" she asked, "Not everyone in the NCR sees eye to eye with the Followers, but they're alright in my book. If you want to know, we sent an envoy to the King, wanting to coordinate our effort when it started getting tough."

"What happened?" Six asked.

Major Kieran shook her head and frowned.

"Our envoy was badly beaten and barely survived," she replied, "my superiors ordered the relief effort to be scrapped. I managed to get the clearance to get the mission approved, but with much less support. Now, there's not enough supplies to give out if I wanted to help the rest of Freeside, which I don't."

This kind of attitude was exactly why Six didn't like the NCR. They were too lazy to fix problems if something went wrong, and rather than try to solve a problem, they would simply do away with it. The people of Freeside were undesirable; they were poor and unwashed, some of them addicts.

So, she would ask a difficult question.

"Why?" Six pressed, "Do you think you're better than them?"

"The kind of people that beat an envoy sent to try to help them?" the Major snorted, "Why yes, I do think we're better than them. I understand being too proud to receive help, but it shows that they're all just thugs."

Six nodded and promised the Major that she would look into what happened to her envoy. The woman simply shrugged and said that she didn't care either way, that it wouldn't change a thing.

But the Courier was determined to change something and knew that she was the only one who would step up and try to work things out.

She made her way back to the King's School of Music and opened the door, coming face to face with one of the gang's officers.

"Hey there," he said, "I heard that you went to talk to an NCR soldier lady. Whatever she told you, it's bullshit, and it's not something to bother the King with. It's more like they sent someone to spy on us and they weren't tough enough to last in Freeside. So, do everyone a favor and keep your mouth shut about it, okay?"

This guy needed to get out of her way. After hearing about the envoy, she would certainly talk to the King.

"I still think he should know about it," she replied.

The man looked angrier, but he relented.

"Fine," he hissed, "just do what you want, but don't expect it to matter." He tossed his hair, straightened his jacket, and stormed off, putting a toothpick in his mouth as he left.

Six entered the performance room and approached the King. He smiled up at her and motioned for her to take a seat.

"You come and go pretty quickly," he laughed. Snapping his fingers, he told one of his men to get her a sarsaparilla.

"So, apparently the NCR is distributing supplies down in a building by the old train station," she said.

"Like food and stuff?" he shrugged, "they've been doing that for a while. That ain't nothing to get ruffled over."

A drink was placed in front of her, freshly poured over ice. The Courier thanked the man and took a sip.

"They're still handing out to NCR citizens only," she continued.

"Well, that explains the goons," the King shrugged, "They're trying to keep folk from the food, still. I can't support that part, no sir."

Six nodded. Freeside was in need of food.

"They said they sent someone to talk it over with you," she said.

"Wait a minute," he started, "they said what?" The King put his cigar on an ashtray and leaned in.

"They said the man was beaten and barely survived," Six added.

He stared at her for a moment to process what she said then leaned back in his chair and grabbed his drink. Nodding, he tossed an ice cube around in his mouth.

"Well, that'd explain why they're riled at us," he said.

The King chewed on the ice cube, deep in thought. Six wasn't sure how to help this situation out, not when they didn't know who beat the NCR envoy.

A man burst into the room, shouting for the King. He was out of breath, as if he had run across Freeside without stopping.

"What?" the King asked.

"There's a shootout going down at the old train station," he panted, "Pacer's there shooting at some strangers, probably NCR."

The King shook his head and sighed.

"I'll do this," Six insisted, "I need to do this."

He gave her a bright smile and shook her hand.

"Good girl," the King said, "tell them that I'm willing to cooperate. This thing has turned into something insane. I know you'll handle it well."

Six was glad that he was confident in her and it was time for her to find out if she had what it took to be in charge. If she couldn't take care of this, then she couldn't take care of Vegas.

The Courier ran out into the street toward the NCR's operation. Gunfire echoed off the old buildings, the shuffling Freesiders unhurriedly taking cover. They looked used to it, and the thought was upsetting. These people didn't have to live like this.

She reached the station and saw the gang member from earlier that tried to talk her into not talking to the King. And as the Courier ducked behind the shelter of an old bus stop, all of the pieces fell into place.

"Why the hell are you here?" Pacer hissed, "I've got this under control."

Six glanced around and saw dead gang members dotting the street. The sound of NCR rifles came from a nearby tower and it struck her as odd that they were still shooting. She and Pacer were in a safe location.

"I can tell," she replied.

The Courier moved from the cover, put her hands in the air, and walked toward the NCR operation.

"Lady," Pacer shouted, "you're going to get shot."

"I've been shot before," she smiled, "It's not all that bad."

As Pacer panicked behind her, Six continued to walk slowly with her hands in the air. If the NCR wanted them dead, then they would have been dead already. The fact that they shot around their cover meant that they were trying to scare them off.

She crossed over the old rail lines and saw Major Kieran at the base of the tower.

"The King wants to help with the relief effort," Six shouted.

The Major let out a bark of laughter and told her to keep her hands where she could see them.

"Like he helped the envoy we sent?" she snorted, "no thanks. And this open hostility shows that he's not willing to work with us."

"That wasn't him," Six insisted, "He didn't even know an envoy was sent."

Major Kieran crossed her arms and frowned.

"Then he should watch his back," she replied, "we know for a fact that the envoy made it to their headquarters. Still, if he wants to work with us, then we can work something out."

"I'm really glad that we can work this out," Six nodded, "and the people of Freeside will be very thankful. The King will be in touch."

The Major ordered her men to stand down, allowing Six to leave. She walked back across the tracks and looked for Pacer, but he disappeared. Thought it was a short walk back to the King's, Six kept her guard up, knowing that she was about to cause a lot of trouble for Pacer. If he was willing to beat up an envoy of people sent to talk to the King about feeding Freeside, it was very likely that he'd come after her.

Six kept her hand at her side, ready to draw her pistol at a second's notice. She peered around corners and glanced behind her the entire way back.

But she made it without a problem and opened the door where the King waited for her. Perhaps, Maria granted her safety.

The King motioned toward the chair she sat in off and on throughout the day.

"You've got a problem," she said, "they said the envoy made it here. And after I found out what happened, Pacer told me to not bother you with it. I'm positive that he had something to do with all of this."

He nodded and told her that he would deal with Pacer.

"Now," he smiled, "you've come and gone all day, doing things for me and Freeside. You wanted to discuss something earlier, and the King wants to hear you out."

Six breathed deeply and prepared herself. This was it. If she could get the King's support, then she would have Freeside.

"I want to take over Vegas," she said.

The King choked on his cigar, smoke shooting out of his lungs in puffs as he laughed.

"Really," Six insisted, "everyone knows that I've been into the Lucky 38. I helped take Benny out, as well as the Omertas. The areas outside of Vegas know me well, and I know that Goodsprings, Primm, and Novac would be interested in my offer."

"I've got the key to Vegas," she continued, "I disconnected House and installed a bot into his mainframe. And waiting in a secret bunker beneath Fortification Hill is an army of upgraded securitrons. We've got everything we need to put the city in the hands of the people. Every person who comes here will be a king in his or her own right."

He blinked and stared at her, trying to process what she said. A smile crept across his face.

"And how can the King help you?" he asked, "Seems like you've got this under control."

"We're going to need help," Six replied, "I've got robots, but without people being behind this, there's no way it'll succeed. It's going to be tough in the first few months and I'll need the Kings to keep an eye out for people doing bad things."

"So," he replied, "we just keep on doing what we're doing. Sounds simple."

"I hope it is," she said, "in the meantime, I'd like to stop charging people for drinking. Keep a King or two at each pump to make sure it stays safe, but I think a lot of these people are going to need the water."

The man sighed and took a sip of his drink.

"I've got plans," Six said, "we're going to grow grapes and make wine. The NCR will want it, and Vegas will have a reputation for our wines as well as casinos. In the meantime, we're going to need to trade and grow our own food, or people will starve."

"The towns outside of the city grow their own food," the King nodded, "and Freeside has managed somehow with getting stuff to eat, largely in part due to the Followers. I don't think folks will starve."

"I get what you're saying," Six replied, "and I think the outer areas will be fine. I think the city itself is going to be in great danger if the NCR leaves and doesn't open their borders to trading with us. The quality of the food being served in the casinos would go way down, and so would the casinos themselves. If they stay mad long enough, then there will be issues with having decent trade, because I doubt the Legion would share traders with us."

The King nodded in agreement.

"You're going to need a representative from each area to tell you what the area's needs are," he replied.

"Exactly," the Courier smiled, "and that's why I'm talking to you. You know Freeside very well, and you care about the people."

The King stared at the table as ashes fell from his forgotten cigar. In the dim light of the musty, old school, he looked much older than Six would have originally guessed.

And as they shook hands on their deal, the Courier couldn't help but be proud.

* * *

><p>Vulpes logged off the console in the vault, just as the screen on the wall in front of him began to crackle. In a few seconds, it displayed the static face of Elijah.<p>

"You're in the bunker after all this time," Elijah gasped, "The Sierra Madre, mine. Don't move. Don't go into the vault, and don't touch anything." His voice sounded more manic with each passing sentence, and it was clear to Vulpes that killing this man very well may be a mercy.

"Still hiding, I see," he drawled.

It was too late to listen to Elijah's orders; Vulpes was inside the vault. The terminal within had a personal message for Vera Keyes, which told him that accessing a fake file of Sinclair's personal documents would permanently seal the vault. As soon as he read the message, it auto-deleted, leaving him with the rigged terminal.

"Hiding, hardly. Trapped," the old man clipped, "you think you were the first one to unlock the casino? It was me. And it locked me in here. But then you came along, and things changed."

"I'm sick of your cowardly games," Vulpes sighed, "If you're going to come down, do it."

"No," Elijah replied, "I'm not going to take this chance when I'm so close. I have time, more than you. You're locked down there. I'll send others, more people."

He couldn't be serious. This man had someone inside the bunker, someone who could enter the vault, and truthfully, already had. Yet he planned on sending more people into the vault, a move that would only serve to raise a collective of angry prisoners.

"Unless you come down here, you cowardly degenerate," Vulpes growled, "I will destroy the vault and everything in it."

"No, I don't think so," the old man laughed, "it'd trigger other security measures. It was built to last. Besides, you wouldn't destroy it. You're curious; you followed the signal."

He did not follow the signal. The signal was placed in his bunker, on his table, without his permission.

"All it would take is destroying a single terminal or holotape," he quipped.

"You might destroy access to the data, not the data itself," Elijah said, "besides; there'd be safeguards in place."

"And how can you be sure?" Vulpes shrugged, "Some messages can be set up to auto-delete. Destroying even a single fragment of data is more than you could stand."

"But you realize the value of what's down there," the old man said, "Stop threatening me. You're of no use to me, and I could set off your collar now."

He wondered if Elijah would realize that he was inside the Vault. There must not have been a camera around the screen, giving Vulpes the advantage.

"There's a noticeable lag of several seconds for the collar to go off," he nodded, "and a warning."

There was a pause as the old man thought about what he said.

"Clever," Elijah admitted, "I'm coming down, and I'll meet you face to face. You do anything, I will set your collar off, vault security or not."

It was time to leave.

He would make his way to the maintenance elevator, which would be permanently stuck at the top floor after he used it. That would trap Elijah in the basement until the old man could hack into the elevator's systems and get it to come back down. That was, if he didn't access Sinclair's personal files. Vulpes had no doubt that the old man would seal himself in the vault. In the meantime, he would be long gone and alive.

Vulpes glanced around the vault, eying the gold bars on the table. On a whim, he supposed he could bring something back for Caesar. Though his lord wasn't one for vanities, it could be an appreciated oddity to have a bar of gold. Decided, the Frumentarius grabbed two of the heavy bars and left the vault, closing the door behind him to make it look like he hadn't been inside.

He crept back the way he came, through metal offices littered with paper and rusted, broken catwalks that ground loudly under his weight. His heart hammered with the excitement of leaving the bunker and deceiving the old man into locking himself into the vault.

Vulpes' pip-boy crackled as Elijah set up a communication line with it.

"You!" he shouted, "You stupid, arrogant animal. You really think you can best me?"

His collar began to beep; it was the same noise that signaled after the mutant killed itself.

"Yes," Vulpes replied, "and I have bested you already."

He hopped across a gap in a rusted catwalk. His landing caused the structure to shake and he darted into the nearby office where the platform was slightly more secure. Prefab maintenance areas were notorious for collapsing under the feet of explorers.

"You're nothing more than a tribal," Elijah hissed, "a disgusting, mud-wallowing, inbred ape."

"Your avarice has brought this upon you," Vulpes said, "You have your treasure."

Vulpes chuckled as he reached the only exit. The force fields from where Elijah came were back in place as soon as the old man passed through them. Elijah was trapped down there, and he would have all the treasure he wanted for the rest of his life.

"A last request," the old man murmured.

Vulpes paused, waiting to hear him out.

"Tell me your name," he said.

His name was unimportant. It was a label given to him so that he could be identified, nothing more.

"Erwin Rommel," Vulpes replied.

He entered the elevator, sealing the old man to his doom.


	36. Chapter 36

Cass peered out from behind a rock and frowned. Yes Man hadn't said anything about there being an NCR patrol at the powering substation, nor had he mentioned that it was the place where the NCR routed their power.

If Six's effort had been under the radar before, it sure as hell wasn't about to stay there.

"Can we knock them out?" the Courier whispered, looking between her and Veronica.

Damn girl was too soft, and Cass knew that she would have to give her some tough love.

"No," she replied, "You're the one that wanted to do all of this. Well, guess what? You've got to learn the price of these kinds of things."

Six stared at the NCR troopers with wide eyes. Cass nodded. Yes, she meant that they had to kill them.

"They've got families," the Courier whispered, "that guy there was talking about his mom. And that girl there, she has a two year old."

"You knew this would happen eventually," Veronica interjected, "The NCR didn't draft these people, and they weren't forced into it like Legionaries."

Cass didn't have pity for the brainwashed Legionaries; there were just some things that she figured were instinctual laws of humanity.

"They'd kill us if they knew what we wanted to do," Cass nodded, "so it's fair. You shouldn't have gotten into this game if you can't handle this."

She watched Six purse her lips and draw her golden gun from its holster. And as the first shots rang out, Cass felt a strange surge of pride. The caravaner drew her shotgun and blasted at the troops as they skittered about, trying to find who was picking them off.

Veronica crept around the side of their outcropping and sneaked up behind a crouching trooper. His eyes scanned the area in front of him, unknowing that there was someone behind him. The scribe sprung at him, her power fist shooting out and blowing his head clean off his shoulders.

As quickly as the fight began, it ended. The bodies of NCR troopers littered the ground and Cass shouldered her shotgun.

Without even looking around, Six turned the bunker door's crank and entered the power station. Veronica followed her, and Cass found herself pleasantly surprised by the Courier's determination. She had wondered if she would have to shoot all of the guards, but Six took out more than her fair share. It was reassuring to know that Six could do some killing when it was necessary.

Cass followed closely behind her companions, the bunker door screeching to close behind them. Inside the station lay a row of mattresses, magazines and various other personal effects next to them. Through the building's dim lighting, Cass saw a wall full of knobs and screens, and a terminal with a slot. The platinum chip glistened in the dark as Six inserted it into the console, and for a moment, it was silent as the terminal processed what it was doing.

A hum began deep within the station, growing louder as it rerouted the power to help Yes Man project control further. Cass smirked; those Legion fuckers wouldn't know what was coming for them.

The screens on the wall flickered as the face of Yes Man showed up on all of them, giving him the eerie appearance of omnipresence.

"So, I need to tell you something very important," he said, "apparently, the Legion started the fight already, much earlier than the calculations."

Cass swore under her breath. They were cutting it very close.

"In fact," Yes Man continued, "I really wanted to tell you that they started just after you left New Vegas, but you were out of range. Thankfully, powering this station took care of that issue. By the time you get there, they might have already killed each other, leaving you to go in and do your thing unhindered. Isn't that great?"

Six nodded mutely.

"So, we'd better get to the dam," she mused.

"Right-o!" the bot replied, "go there, and install the Platinum Chip at the power station in the dam's offices. That'll power up the army at the Fort."

Six nodded and took the platinum chip from the console.

"Arcade's going to miss the fun," Veronica sighed.

Cass chuckled, imagining Arcade protesting their stupidity while wildly flailing his arms. The three of them laughed for a moment before going silent.

They had already gotten rid of House, who had been in control for a long time. Now it was time to get rid of the other two sets of freeloaders.

Cass hoped that Six's luck wouldn't run out just yet.

* * *

><p>The air was burning, and Six saw the smoke long before she saw the dam. It must have been from the Boomers' plane that she saw earlier. The Courier, Cass and Veronica wound their way down the road that led to the dam, passing various Khans that were leaving. Some were wounded, others, high off the taste of revenge.<p>

Jessup spotted Six and shouted, giving her a hug that picked her up off her feet. He told her to go get em and transferred the soot covering his hand to her by covering her face with his large palm.

"War paint," he winked, motioning to her face.

Six wasn't sure how she looked, but Jessup seemed to approve.

"We came as soon as we heard," she said, "How many are left?" The Courier stared around at the dam, seeing more dead bodies than alive.

"There's probably a few inside the dam," he said, "but I'd say that they mostly killed each other off. Legion might give you a little trouble; scouts say that it looks like they used maybe half. They've got fresh ones gearing up down at the Fort."

She would deal with the Legion; she just needed to get the securitrons up and running.

With a nod and a handshake, Jessup left them to join the Khans. They would be gone within a week, their fight at the dam their last legacy left on the Mojave. Perhaps, they would be remembered as good people in the end.

Six began to walk with her friends down the burning dam, being careful to take cover every few feet. Those who were fighting didn't seem to pay them mind; nobody knew what they had done at the power station just hours prior.

An NCR officer caught the Courier's eye and pointed her rifle at the group.

"What are you doing here?" the woman barked, "Civilians should stay far from this place."

Six stared down the service rifle's long, black barrel, wondering how she would get out of this one.

"We're an engineering crew," Veronica interjected, "on urgent, special orders. We need to get to the middle of the dam and into the offices to activate some security measures."

The officer sized them up for a moment, cursed, and motioned for troops to accompany them. Six stared at Veronica. She couldn't believe her lie actually worked, and could scarcely believe that she lied to begin with.

They made their way across the scorched dam, and Six wondered if they ought to shoot the troopers now and make their own way. After all, if they were escorted all the way to the powering station, they would have to shoot them anyway. At least this way, there would be no big fight.

She didn't have to make the decision as gunfire spattered the troops. Quickly, Six followed Cass and Veronica to take cover behind a group of sandbags. They were so close to the door.

"Woman," a voice groused, "tend to your business."

Six blinked, afraid to move from cover.

"Get out of there," the man continued, "now."

Slowly, she stood to see a group of Legionaries staring her down. They chattered amongst themselves in their language, mentioning Vulpes' name more than once. And as Six glanced down at her pendant, she couldn't be more grateful.

Hurriedly, she ushered Cass and Veronica into the offices. They looked at her in suspicion when the door closed behind her.

"What the hell was that about?" Cass asked. She frantically motioned toward the door.

"I don't know," Six lied, "but it's a good thing that they let us go."

They didn't ask any more questions as the group stepped into the elevator and rode it down to the power station level. The doors to the elevator opened, revealing a concrete hallway with pipes lining the ceiling. Occasional gunfire peppered the eerie silence; the NCR might have been defeated on the surface, but they were dug deep into the dam.

The trio crept down the hallway, rounding corners cautiously as they made their way to the dam's main console. Peering around a corner, Six saw two heavy NCR troopers flanking the very door that they needed to enter. She ducked back quickly, pantomimed that the soldiers were there, and watched as her friends cringed. They probably couldn't take out heavy armor.

The sound of boots running echoed down the hallway and the soldiers stirred and grumbled back and forth. A group of legionaries burst into the area, attacking the NCR on sight. Flames erupted and scorched the walls, making the Courier back up.

As quickly as the scuffle began, it ended, leaving Six to peer around the corner in an attempt to see who won.

Blood pooled on the metal flooring from both sides of the conflict. The Courier glanced toward the heavy troopers to make sure they were down.

They were. Blood poured out from under their helmets, coating their armor in red. To their left, a Legionary lay, his head bashed in, probably from the flamers that the troopers carried.

"Awful in close quarters," Cass murmured, "this is why the Legion is doing well."

"That and they've deactivated the armor's power function," Veronica added, "They're essentially wearing hunks of metal."

Six nodded mutely and opened the door to the station. Directly in front of them was a terminal, covered in screens and buttons. Quickly, the Courier found the slot for the Platinum chip. It didn't take more than a second for Yes Man's face to appear on the screen.

The bot was getting stronger, and by extension, New Vegas.

"Hi! Nice to see you again!" Yes Man greeted, "So, we can either blow up the dam's generators, or we can reroute power to the army at the Fort."

The decision was obvious. Without that army, they would be defenseless, and they needed the power from the dam as a bargaining chip.

"Reroute the power," Six nodded, "the people need this dam."

"Yes!" Yes Man cheered, "This is going to be fun."

The Legion was about to be destroyed, and the thought brought a strange feeling of dread with it.

"If any of the securitrons see Mr. Fox anywhere," Six insisted, "do not kill him. Get rid of Caesar, get rid of anyone, but don't hurt Fox."

"Sure thing," the bot said, "I'm unlocking the east power plant. Go there, flip the switch, and let's deal with the Legion and the NCR."

It was a foolish request, especially after knowing who Mr. Fox was. But even after everything, Six found that she couldn't bear to let him go.

* * *

><p>Marcus peered out over Lake Mead, remembering how the machine that had been in the water flew over the dam. Some sort of containers fell out of it, and when those tiny packages hit the ground, it erupted in fire. The plane made no distinction of where it dropped its fire, slaughtering Legion and NCR alike.<p>

Hoover Dam had been burning for hours; the flames and smoke-making Marcus want to join the battle. But he couldn't; he had given up the call of war when he became a praetorian.

"That woman," he remarked, "she's responsible for this."

Crassius nodded and stared at the dam as well. His arms were crossed over his chest, his jaw tight and his mouth set into a thin line. He was visibly worried, something that Marcus hadn't seen since they had known each other.

Marcus frowned and looked up at the smoke-filled sky. It was cloudy, the breeze unusually still. Amid the sounds of battle, the sky grumbled, an occasional flash of lightning streaking across the sky. It was surely an ill omen.

A rumble sounded beneath their feet, causing the praetorians to make worried eye contact. The Courier supposedly destroyed what was beneath the Fort. As the noise increased, Marcus was quite sure that the woman had double-crossed them all.

Within seconds, an explosion sounded in the direction of the old bunker. The praetorians nodded at each other and ran down the hill from their tent toward the noise. By the time Marcus reached the old weather station, the sky had opened up, releasing a downpour of rain.

Robots poured out of the bunker like a horde of ants, shooting everything in their path. Within seconds, Marcus was soaked through, his cape and pturges plastered to his body, and his mohawk limp with water. He ran after the bots that wheeled their way up to Caesar's tent, desperate to keep up.

But he couldn't, and as they loosed a bunch of rockets, he knew he was too late.

Immediately after the attack, the bots seemed to lose interest and began to roll in the direction of the dam. They couldn't just leave like that, not after killing the son of Mars. Enraged, Marcus ran after them, grabbing one by the arm and ripping it out of its socket. Shouts rose around him as the Legionaries waged war against the metal abominations and he joined in. They would die down to the last man to avenge Caesar.

The bots didn't bother to retaliate in favor of pressing onward toward the dam. While some were felled, the army of monstrosities remained intact, taunting them as if they weren't even worth their time.

Marcus turned from the retreating bots and ran up the hill to the remains of Caesar's tent. He dug through the downed layers of canvas, discarding dismembered limbs of his fellow praetorians. Throwing aside the final layer, he came across the body of Lucius, who was draped across a figure clad in an unmistakable crimson tunic.

Marcus turned Lucius over to gaze upon the body of Caesar. Blood poured out of his lord's mouth as his mind tried to process that he was really staring at the lifeless body of the Son of Mars.

He didn't realize that he had been shaking until a hand settled on his shoulder.

"He's crossing the river," Crassius rumbled.

Marcus wasn't prepared for the overwhelming amount of shame he felt, that Caesar would be killed so quickly when he had been off duty.

Footsteps sounded behind them, the remaining off duty praetorian, Ossian, approaching the destroyed tent.

"I can't help but feel responsible," he murmured.

Marcus nodded. He couldn't stop staring at the felled god before him.

Ossian rummaged around in the rubble, retrieved a blanket, and draped it over Caesar and Lucius. It snapped Marcus out of his stupor, making him avert his eyes to the remains of his fallen brothers.

"We're the ranking officers," Crassius frowned, "we need to take charge."

Marcus nodded, and the three remaining praetorians began to take stock of the damage to the Fort. Soon, they would answer to the Legate.

Marcus expected to be executed for his failure.

* * *

><p>Fat drops of rain fell from the sky, the land itself crying as war ravaged her. Nature beat its fists against his armor, the sound little more than a series of plinks.<p>

Lanius watched as rain put out fires along Hoover Dam and caused the large billows of black smoke to grow weaker by the minute. There had been a large cluster of bright flashes at the Fort and those died out as well, leaving the Butcher with nothing more than a series of omens, all of which boded ill for the Legion. If something happened at the Fort, then he had been powerless to stop it. Perhaps, the fingers of Mars himself touched it, teaching the Legion a lesson.

In the coming days, Lanius would attempt to discern the divine lesson, and know his place under the watchful eyes of Mars.

He peered out over the ridge that his tent occupied and was surprised to see a group of soaked females making their way through his camp. They killed all who stood in their way, the short woman in the front dispatching most of the attackers with a golden pistol. It was a curious sight, one strange enough to make him order that the Legionaries stop attacking them.

Now unhindered, the woman holstered her weapon and approached him boldly. She stopped within two steps of him, craning her neck to look him in the eye. Lanius wondered how he appeared to this short, soot-stained woman.

"An envoy of Vegas, yet you carry yourself for battle," he remarked, "If so, then you cannot truly be of that city of cowards."

She peered at him with her strange eyes as her companions looked around nervously.

"Maybe you're willing to listen to reason," the woman said.

So, she wished to speak. Talking was a coward's tool, used by the Frumentarii in order to commune with and undermine the enemy.

"I see you fight with words, like all beneath the flag of the bear," Lanius scoffed, "let's hope your skill with weapons proves greater."

His words drew a frown across her face, a flash of her soul exposing itself. This woman was a coyote; she was fearsome, nurturing, and protective of her den.

"I'm not NCR," she growled, "never was. This battle is decided, that's why I'm here."

The coyote stood between him and her den of pups, the brightly lit old-world city.

"So, you seek terms of surrender?" he asked, "Our roads into the NCR are hung with the bodies off those who attempted to negotiate with us. Save your speeches; we will move forward."

"Move forward?" the woman quipped, "The Legion spent years trying to take Hoover Dam. And I just walked across the dam; there's nobody there. Everyone is dead or dying. I shot some folks that weren't going to make it, both sides."

She gave mercy killings to her enemies, a great weakness.

"We are amassed here," Lanius nodded, "there are hundreds more, ready to attack. The sheer might of the East will come like a flood to make markers of your people as we move west."

"And then what of the East?" she asked.

"You speak in circles," he growled. "What of the East? I am the East, and I will prove it this day."

"I'm just saying," The woman shrugged, "If you need all of the East to crush the West."

What was this woman implying? The West was a great foe, but the East was greater.

"Our victory here shall be swift," he said, "we will take the dam then build a road to the west paved with the bodies of the NCR. The East will hold."

"The weakness of the West will overcome you," she remarked.

The woman spoke in riddles in an attempt to confuse him.

"The NCR's weakness is its size," she continued, "they're so spread out that they can't even clear ants out of an outpost without it being an ordeal. It'll take your whole army to hold the west."

"That does not mean that we would not succeed," Lanius quipped, his answer sounding childish even to his own ears.

"Yes," the female nodded, "but moving your entire army West means that you'll lose the East."

Lanius frowned, thinking of the tireless months his Legion spent at war in the East and the signs of Mars he's seen that very day. He peered down at the woman and wondered how a female had been given a taste of the voice of Mars.

"The East was a hard fought campaign," he admitted, "Even now, Caesar drew too much of the Legion's blood needed there for this. Hoover Dam is but a place. I will not have it be the gravestone of the Legion."

"I don't believe this means I've seen the last of you," the woman replied, "or the Legion."

Lanius glanced down at the woman again, and the golden mark of Caesar caught his eye. This one was supposed to belong to Vulpes, yet she had rebelled against him. The man couldn't keep a dissolute woman under his authority.

Then again, the Butcher would begrudgingly admit that Vulpes wasn't just some weak man to let a woman step all over him. That meant that this particular female was exceptional. If she were bred to create more Legionaries, they would be worthy men of the Legion.

"I shall return East for a time," Lanius conceded, "but when the time comes, we will return West. If the West is one day filled with ones such as you, it will be a worthy fight indeed."

"If you feel that war matters that much," she said, "then perhaps you will see differently in time."

Surely this woman had been told of Mars, his thirst for blood and war, and the Legion's way of life.

"My coming would have set your people free," Lanius remarked, "and would have made them see things in ways they cannot see. War would have tested them, broken the weak with its violence, yet allowing the strong to arise. Violence gave you that strength, awakened you. I can see it upon your face, where two bullets left their mark."

He looked down at the mark around her neck again and marveled that his thirst for war had been quenched from a conversation.

"Perhaps it is unfortunate that Vulpes was not here to hear your words," he chuckled, "something tells me it would be interesting to watch. Until we meet again, Courier."

Lanius nodded and watched as the female turned and left the way she came.

He had the feeling that he would see her again, in time.

* * *

><p>Six walked away from the Monster of the East, her head held high. She was proud that she had been able to talk to him, surprised that he would take a moment to speak with her, and downright shocked that he agreed to leave peacefully.<p>

The thing that struck her about Lanius was though he was blunt, he was articulate. He was willing to listen to reason, and willing to speak with a woman. Then again, she had met the highest-ranking men in the Legion, and they all seemed far different from people outside assumed they were.

Six opened the gate to the eastern side of Hoover Dam, coming face to face with a large group of NCR rangers. They parted down the middle to allow a man to pass between them. He was short, his uniform and hat emblazoned with golden stars.

It had to be General Oliver. Six stopped, hoping to negotiate with him as well. He was smiling, so the Courier felt like she had a good chance.

"It's been a long time since I've seen someone do the kind of work you did today," he laughed, "what was that light coming from the Fort? Some kind of thumb of God you called down? Amazing, fucking amazing."

General Oliver stepped forward and grabbed her hand with both of his for a shake.

"Oh, I can't take all the credit," Six said, "had some help from my allies here."

She motioned toward a pack of approaching securitrons. Yes Man led the group, his face easily recognizable next to the other bots.

"Uh," Oliver chucked, "Oh, these are with you? Hello there, smiley."

He reached toward the pocket of his pants, the securitrons immediately readying their weapons for attack. The General glanced around nervously and abandoned whatever he had planned on doing.

"Can you tell these guys to put their guns down?" he asked, "I was just reaching into my coat to give you a cigar."

Six didn't buy it. He wanted to shoot her, without even telling her to prepare herself. If he wasn't going to play nice, then she didn't feel very inclined to do so either.

"General Oliver," she announced, "Hoover Dam belongs to the people of New Vegas. Leave at once."

He stared at her, his face growing red by the second.

"I would sooner spit on the grave of my mother than to let a wasteland fuck talk to me like that," the General hissed, "Who the hell do you think you are? Looking to cash your chips on some NCR bullets? I can oblige."

"Lanius and I just had a wonderful conversation," she remarked, "he was actually rather respectful and treated me like a peer. I appreciate that. I don't appreciate the way you're talking to me."

Six meant every word she said. She hadn't come this far to be told off by an NCR guy who just wanted to take the land from the people of Vegas.

"Look," he replied, "I know you're riding high right now, but let me tell you something. You ain't pissing on me right now; you're pissing on the bear. You've been far enough west to know how far that claw stretches. Fuck with the bear and–"

"General," Six interrupted, "the Republic has outstayed its welcome. The people don't want you, and this land is ours, as it always has been."

His face got redder as he walked up to Six. Looking down on her, he brought his face close to hers. But she wasn't scared; Six wouldn't back down.

"You want me to make tracks out of here," he growled, "and head back to the NCR with our tail between our legs? No. I came for a fight today, and you're thinking you're going to make me budge, then you'd better have a mean left hook or I'm not going anywhere."

If he wanted to brawl, then she would oblige him.

Six swung her arm out, her fist connecting with the General's jaw. She cried out in pain as she realized that she probably didn't punch the right way.

The nearby rangers drew their weapons, only to be vaporized by the securitrons. In a moment, only two soldiers remained, along with the stunned General, who rubbed his quickly swelling jaw.

"Two weeks," Six ordered, "I want you packed and moved out in two weeks. When we are ready, the state of New Vegas will send an envoy, in hopes of negotiating some trade deals."

"You haven't seen the last of us," he remarked. General Oliver signaled for his remaining troops to follow him. The defeated NCR disappeared into the endless wall of securitrons.

As soon as they left, Yes Man wheeled up to Six.

"You did a super job wrapping things up," he cheered, "and I'm not just saying that because I have to. I didn't want to make a big deal about this until after we won but, well, I found a piece of code in Mr. House's databanks that will let me reprogram my personality. It'll make me more assertive, and it'll make me appear offline for a little while, but it's going to be okay."

"I've updated the securitron's security parameters," it continued, "so they know how to protect Vegas. So, I'm going to be off making a few changes, and I promise that I'll see you around. Until then, take care!"

Before Six had a chance to reply, the securitron's screen switched to the default face and Yes Man had disappeared.

The Courier began the long walk back to New Vegas, accompanied by her friends and an army of robots. Now, she could begin to help the people build new lives.


	37. Chapter 37

A/n: I hope everyone had an awesome Christmas. Thanks for reading :)

* * *

><p>Vegas had been one of the wildest spots on earth before the Great War, and it continued to be so. People lined the streets of the Strip and Freeside, coming and going as they pleased, doing as they pleased.<p>

Six stood at the top of the stairs that led to the Lucky 38 and watched as people stumbled around the streets, leaning on each other for support. A few NCR troopers joined in; they were glad to go home, and they would party their last week out before they had to pack up and leave. Most casinos offered discounted drinks and chems, adding fuel to the revelry around the city.

"They've been at it for three days," Six marveled.

"Yeah," Veronica nodded, "people have something to be happy about."

The Courier tried not to stare as a group of naked people walked by to make their way out to Freeside. The first night, people cheered her on, got drunk, and passed out. The next day, they woke up and did it all over again, while some never fell asleep. By the time the third day came, Six heard rumors of people lighting bonfires to keep warm and having sex in the streets. It had been a party of good feelings, the celebration becoming wilder with each passing second.

"Fox would have loved this," the scribe added, watching another group of streakers pass by.

Six shrugged, knowing that Vulpes wouldn't have approved of the reveling. But he had built a reputation as a man who partied hard; nobody would have guessed that he was a Legionary in disguise.

The Courier sighed. Yes Man was hibernating, leaving her with the responsibility of making sure the people didn't hurt themselves. She was beginning to get worried; the crowd was growing louder and many of them stopped laughing long ago.

A crash sounded out in Freeside and Six stood from her step. Shouts sounded above the Strip's music, making the Courier descend the stairs of the Lucky 38. A pair of securitrons followed her out into Freeside.

While the Strip was able to manage the party, it seemed as if Freeside hadn't been ready for the crowds. Flaming trash littered the ground, along with piles of clothes and empty containers of chems. The shouting increased in volume as Six walked deeper into Freeside.

As she rounded the corner to downtown, a group of rioters smashed the windows of the Atomic Wrangler and ran down the street to the other nearby shops. Six shouted to get their attention, but she was ignored.

She ran down the street, begging them not to destroy their own home, her pleas falling on deaf ears.

Six turned to the securitron next to her and told it to get the rioting to stop, with the stipulation that they weren't to fire on the crowd. The securitrons began to chase the looters, and it only fueled the anarchy.

"Not quite what I had in mind, baby," a voice sounded behind her.

Six turned to come face to face with Benny. He smiled at her and gave her a little wave, looking as impeccable as the day she had first seen him. A ghoul stood behind him, dressed in a mechanic's outfit. The ghoul looked around, shaking his head at the rioting and crossing his hand over his chest.

"You can't just wave your arms and ask them to stop nicely," Benny chuckled. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze.

"Tell those bots to fire a warning shot," he offered, "tell them to tell the people to disperse."

The Courier nodded and relayed the orders to the bots. Her heart fell when she realized that they weren't listening, even when the bots shot a few rounds into the air.

Six watched hopelessly as the crowd turned toward Mick and Ralph's store. They smashed in the windows and tried to loot the store, only to be gunned down by the owners within. This wasn't what Six wanted.

"Authorize lethal force," Benny frowned.

"That's overkill," Six protested.

The Chairman shrugged.

"Do you have tear gas?" he asked.

They didn't, and they were running on borrowed time. If she didn't act fast, Freeside would be destroyed within minutes.

Six gave the authorization, on the stipulation that the bots were to warn first, then injure, then kill only if necessary. Gunfire erupted and one of the rioters went down screaming and clutching his leg. The entire group stopped, staring at the bots in terror.

"Disperse," the securitrons ordered.

The rioters slunk off, taking the wounded man with them. Six was sure that the securitrons captured their faces and could identify them. She wasn't going to let them go, not when they destroyed peoples' shops and homes. The people that did this would clean up what their mess.

Six walked toward Mick and Ralph's, holding her hands up in case she spooked the shopkeepers. As she neared the store, she called out to let them know that she was there. A red-faced Mick poked his head out of the shop, his hands gripping his shotgun.

"The bots can identify who they were," she said, "and those people will be gotten tomorrow to clean up the messes they made. We can't have this happening."

"That's good," Mick frowned, "they can't get away with this."

Six nodded in agreement and left a few securitrons to guard the broken down shop while she issued orders that everyone was to go home.

The Courier exhaled; just three days in, and she already had her first major problem. And now that Benny was somehow alive, she had another problem.

* * *

><p>In the back of his mind, Craig Boone knew that being able to drink half a bottle of scotch and still be good for the road meant that he had a serious issue. But as he trekked his way through the desert with the Happy Trails Caravan, he supposed he didn't care. He was making some money, and he was far, far away from New Vegas. They were even out of range of Radio New Vegas.<p>

It took no convincing for Jed Masterson to let him join them; Boone showed up with his sniper rifle and beret, and they took him on without many questions. They knew he was First Recon, retired, and looking for a place to earn some caps. It was good enough for them; after all, a sharpshooter would be very useful on the trail.

Boone leaned back against a pack, listening to Jed as he told a story about the Burned Man.

"They say that even on the way down," The caravaner continued, "he didn't make a sound. There are rumors going around that say he's still alive out there."

He scoffed as the man said that Joshua Graham was still alive. There was no way that he could be; Caesar had him covered in pitch, lit on fire, and thrown into the Grand Canyon for his failure to take Hoover Dam. It was one hell of a court-martial, that was for sure. Still, it was one less Legionary alive in the world.

To his left, Ricky twitched, unable to sit still. The kid was wound up on psycho, and obviously addicted. It made Boone wonder if he was the only one to notice, but then again, it took one to know one.

"What do you think, Boone?" Jed asked, "Do you think he's alive?"

Boone snorted, leaned back, and gazed up at the stars.

"A man doesn't quit the Legion like that," he replied, "The Legion quits him. And being covered in pitch, lit on fire and thrown into the canyon is about as quit as you can get."

Stella, another member of their caravan, nodded and let out an 'mhm', tipping a bottle of moonshine against her lips. She was good cover for him; she drank a little just about every night and Boone was quite sure that the others hadn't caught on that he was a drunk. Besides, he had cut back some since he started this caravan adventure.

"I'm not so sure," Jed smiled, "he was a tough son of a bitch. And it doesn't matter who a man is; if the good Lord wants someone alive, they'll be alive, despite anything that happens."

His reply was little more than a grunt. Boone knew firsthand about that; he had drowned himself in scotch for years and still managed to be alive. The thought reminded him to drink more, and he did, taking a gigantic gulp of the bottle that sat faithfully by his side.

"The one people need to be afraid of is the one they call Butcher," Boone remarked, "because that Legate is very much alive, and is known to crucify people for looking at him the wrong way."

Jed nodded and searched behind him for the fire poker.

Boone frowned, realizing that he was too chatty. He didn't like this, didn't like forming attachments with these people, especially Jed and Stella. They were good people and they were getting mixed up in the bad karma that was coming for him.

"How long do you reckon we have to get there?" Stella asked.

Jed leaned in toward the fire and gave it a poke. A few sticks collapsed, sending embers flying upward with the smoke. The fire burned brighter, offering a bit of warmth in the desert's cold nighttime air.

"A few weeks," he replied, "it's hard to tell. The whole thing depends on which trails are still useful, which areas are accessible, and the like. There could be many things that make us have to retrace our steps."

Boone nodded in acceptance and laid back on his bedroll. He didn't care how lost they got, so long as he could have some scotch.

* * *

><p>If it weren't for his pip-boy, he might have lost track of how long he traveled. Vulpes headed southeast, knowing that there was no way that the Sierra Madre lay to the east of the Legion. If it were East, his capture and transport would have taken days, which it hadn't. If it were north of Legion-held lands, then the maps on his pip-boy would activate as soon as he was within range of the Mojave. He highly doubted that the Sierra Madre was located in the remains of Mexico; it was an American-owned establishment, and nothing from the records of the casino itself indicated to the contrary.<p>

Vulpes walked down the dusty remains of highway 93, his breath condensing on the bandana tied around his nose and mouth. Though the cloud thinned out, the wind was still strong, kicking up dust and sand with every step that he took. Before he left, he was able to find another jumpsuit, as well as a hat, canteen and various food items he would need to make his journey. The old jumpsuit was turned into a pack of sorts, the knot tied between the legs and arms of the garment making a decent strap. The gold bars in his makeshift pack rested snugly against his back, their weight reminding him of the gear he carried when he was a recruit.

He approached a nearby yucca plant and stood in its shade as he took a drink of water. Looking at his pip-boy, Vulpes saw that he was in range of Radio New Vegas. Eagerly, he turned it on in hopes of finding out what had transpired in his absence.

"We don't want a repeat of last night," the announcer said, "so for everyone's safety, securitrons have been sent to patrol Freeside and Westside, as well as their usual location at the Strip. With everyone's cooperation, we can make this a wonderful, happy New Vegas, free of the NCR and the Legion. And as always, Courier Six, Yes Man, and Mr. New Vegas love you all."

Vulpes' heart seized in dread as the radio began to play a song. What in the hell happened while he was gone?

He left his resting spot and walked down the road, his mind troubled. The radio mentioned a free New Vegas, and the thought worried him. Who was Yes Man, and what was he doing being mentioned in the same sentence as his woman?

The radio continued to play song after song, frustrating him by the second. As he walked, he began to see signs of civilization. Hoof prints trailed along behind a set of boot prints, the markings of a group of traders. Looking further up the road, Vulpes saw a series of rundown buildings and what appeared to be townspeople milling about.

He turned off the radio in favor of gathering his news from the town; it would be quicker, and it could possibly get a decent meal. On the outskirts of the town lay a small farm, a woman and her teenage daughter tending to the meager crops. Next, it was a sign that read, "Welcome to Caliente." In the next field over, a man worked. Vulpes opted to speak with the females, who had a higher likelihood of helping him. After all, he could charm anyone.

As soon as he caught their eye, he politely lowered his bandana away from his mouth and put on his best country manners.

"Afternoon, ma'am," he nodded, "I was wondering where a man could get some water around here."

The woman smiled and shook his hand, introducing herself as Betsy. She told him to wait just a minute and disappeared into the small farmhouse behind her. When she returned, she brought a bottle of purified water with her, as well as a pack of brahmin jerky.

"We get a lot of travelers around here," she said.

Vulpes nodded and thanked her for the food. He had been living off of potato crisps and insta-mash for a while, and the jerky was delicious.

"What's this I'm hearing on radio New Vegas?" he asked, "I just got in range of the signal and it sounds like a bunch of stuff happened while I was out."

"Apparently," the woman replied, "some courier gal came in with an army of securitrons and kicked the NCR and Legion clear off of that dam. Folks partied for a few days then got rowdy, and the riot was put down quickly. Don't really know how it's going to affect trade and the like; could be good, could be bad."

Vulpes didn't have to act too much to appear shocked.

"The Legion?" he questioned, "I've heard they're a tough lot."

The woman nodded sagely.

"Kicked 'em all clear back to where they came from," she said, "used a plane to bomb the dam, then completely destroyed Caesar's Fort. Imagine that."

He was imagining that, and with each passing second, his stomach twisted into knots.

Quickly, Vulpes said goodbye to the woman and thanked her again for the food. He walked through the town, if only to follow the road that led southeast. Since the Legion had been defeated and packed up, he needed to follow the highway to Flagstaff.

The Fort had been attacked, and if a plane did it like the woman indicated, then it was likely that Caesar was dead. If Caesar were dead, then Lucius would surely be dead. And since they had been defeated, one was to assume logically that Lanius had been killed as well. It didn't take much inference to realize that the Legion was without a Caesar, and given the line of succession dictated, he was next.

Vulpes was the next Caesar.

His stomach turned sour with the thought. He did not want it, and didn't feel like he was fit for the role of a man that sat on a throne, issuing orders. Vulpes was the doer, the one who made sure that things moved smoothly behind the scenes, not the one to be out in front as an example. How was he going to keep up the cult? He wasn't cut out to be worshiped as a god.

Vulpes swallowed thickly as he stared out at the road in front of him. It would have been Caesar's dying wish that his Legion endure, and he couldn't shrink from the task. Caesar saved him from the brink of death, uplifted him from his meaningless tribal folly, and seated him at his right hand. Vulpes was sure that he had missed his Lord's burial by fire, and he cursed himself for being gone. He would do what was right, not what was comfortable.

The unbidden thought came to mind that he ought to petition Six to unite their lands, making her the empress of the reborn Roman Empire. Quickly, he squashed the thought. It would never happen, not with her betrayal.

Their conversation at the Fort came back to him, instantly horrifying and angering him. He had told her to do the right thing, regardless of knowing her name. And the right thing certainly wasn't killing the one hope of civilization and the beacon of temperance that would set the Mojave on the right path. This was why he did the thinking for them; this was why he knew he shouldn't have left to go on this mission. Six lacked discipline.

Vulpes tightened his fist and remembered that he had a lock of her hair tucked away within his glove. It brought back memories of slow, delicious kisses, her body pressed tightly against his. A jolting thrill of arousal ran down his spine as he thought of their brief intimate moments on the Strip. Vulpes thought of her smile, her long, black hair, and her strange eyes. He remembered the moments he spent enjoying her innocence, telling her about life. He could have given her anything, but she ruined it all.

Each memory was painful and angering. Vulpes vowed to put Six out of his mind.

* * *

><p>He remembered the waterlogged Legate coming to them after the battle, his golden armor glistening in the fading sunlight. Lanius had stood like a beacon of hope, calmly issuing orders and asking about the attack. And when he finished gathering his information, the new Caesar did not execute the praetorians who were off duty.<p>

Crassius would not question. The voice of Mars had gone to Caesar Lanius, giving him the supernatural wisdom of his predecessor.

Still, more of a surprise was that it was agreed that the Legion sacrifice a bull in order to ask for the save return of Vulpes Inculta. It was among many humble requests in their prayer to Mars, including the strength of the Legion, and beseeching Mars for the full extent of his wisdom to be sent to the new Caesar.

The brahmin was brought before the unmasked Butcher, his face finally revealed to the Legion upon his ascension to the throne. Very few had seen his face, and Crassius found himself pleasantly surprised. This man wasn't the monster that rumors purported; he wasn't mangled beyond recognition, nor was his face scarred from a fight. He stood at the entrance to where the officers lived, his golden armor polished until it gleamed in the sun. He had long, golden hair to match, with small streaks of wizened silver in the front. A strong jaw led to a squared chin, both covered in a perplexing combination of muttonstache and goatee. He had a straight, pointed nose, and his slightly brow was drawn into a frown. The Butcher looked out his Legion, his eyes a strange light shade of blue-green.

Caesar Lanius was rather attractive. He was a human messenger, given the physical presence of a god.

The brahmin struggled against its restraints, bellowing in anger. Caesar's reply came in the form of a dagger at its right throat, causing the animal to kick and struggle as it bled out. When it knelt down and succumbed, the Butcher knelt down as well, the confused crowd scrambling to make themselves lower than Caesar.

Crassius knelt as well and cast his eyes down in reverence. This sacrifice wasn't a show like the Caesar before him, and the praetorian had an appreciation for his humble prayer. Lanius asked for the fullest wisdom of Mars to guide him, as well as asking for the strength of the Legion to be multiplied. The final moment of the prayer was a request for Vulpes to be returned safely, a thought that made Crassius nod. Even though he didn't like Vulpes, the Butcher requested his safety.

Vulpes was important to the Legion, and had been very important to the late Caesar. He couldn't be forgotten, lest they all anger Mars. Crassius was sure that the Son of Mars looked upon this from the afterlife in approval.

It took little more than a minute and the Butcher was on his feet again, ordering that the brahmin be consumed with fire. Crassius swallowed thickly and stared at the flames, remembering Caesar's burial by fire and the ascension of his spirit.

This wasn't the way things were supposed to turn out, and truthfully, he never believed that the Legion could be defeated, much less walk away from the conflict. New Vegas was to be the Legion's new capitol, the population purged of their sinful practices. From there, they would wage war on the Bear, the ultimate example of those who lacked morals.

But he wasn't Caesar, and he wasn't a legate. He was a guard, one that should have been executed for his failures.

Crassius wouldn't openly question, but he would think it.


	38. Chapter 38

A/n: Thanks everyone for the hits and reviews. Just as a friendly reminder, if you've got your pms turned off, then I can't reply to your reviews. But that's completely up to you if you want a message :)

* * *

><p>Six awoke in her suite in the Lucky 38, her head aching from a long night of poor sleep. What happened in Freeside scared her, and it made the Courier wonder if she would be able to keep control. People liked her, but liking someone didn't mean that you would necessarily do what they said. After all, she liked Vulpes a lot, but she didn't do anything he told her to do.<p>

He was going to be so mad when he found out what happened, if he didn't already know.

Six supposed it was all water under the bridge now, but she still wore his mark. And if anyone asked her why, she was sure that she wouldn't be able to come up with an answer. It wasn't because it looked nice; she could care less about wearing jewelry. And it certainly wasn't because she was sentimental or something, because she totally wasn't. Though she did wonder if he kept the lock of hair that she gave him.

Six sighed and rolled over in bed, forcing herself to get on with the day. Rex awoke with her movement, hopped up, and began to run around the room. He ran in circles around the coffee table, jumping on and off the couch as he passed it on each lap. Smiling at his antics, the Courier stood and began the task of putting her taken leather pants on.

She hopped, cursed, and wiggled her way into the pants inch by inch, growing frustrated with each passing second. Finally, they were in place and Six buttoned them quickly. She stared at the shirt in front of her and frowned; she wasn't in the mood to struggle into that one as well. The Courier quickly grabbed a bra and a weathered tank, throwing them on in a matter of seconds.

Leaning over, she began to tie her hair up and yelled at Rex as he mouthed her hair. Frustrated, Six opened the door to her bedroom and the cyberdog ran out into the main area, barking. If people weren't awake yet, they would be. She finished tying her hair and made her way to the kitchen, surprised to see that she was the last one up. A quick glance to her pip-boy told her that it was almost eleven.

She shuffled to the fridge, grabbed a Nuka-cola, and pocketed the cap. Her friends watched as she sat down and began to drink, finally waking up.

"You were out for a long time, sleepyhead," Veronica smiled.

"A lot of good it did me," Six grunted, "I didn't sleep well at all."

Cass chuckled and leaned forward, her face turning pink.

"You need to get laid," she teased, "you'll sleep very well then."

The Courier snorted and drank more of her cola as Arcade rolled his eyes and sighed.

"I'm so over guys right now," Six replied, "Rex is all the affection I need."

"So, there's nothing with Fox?" Cass quipped, "Because I'm serious that I'd fuck him in every position imaginable."

Six frowned and gripped her bottle. Couldn't Cass just let this whole thing go? She couldn't tell if Cass was joking or serious, and it was driving her crazy.

"Stop," Six mumbled.

"Why?" Cass insisted, "You're not interested so –"

The Courier stood, her chair snagging on the carpet and falling backward. She grabbed her bottle of Nuka-cola, left the room, and entered the elevator. She didn't want to deal with this, so she just left.

The elevator took her up to the penthouse, dinging when it opened. Six made her way down the stairs with her drink in hand and hoped that Yes Man would be online. She needed to talk to him about their plans. Rounding the corner, she was pleased to see his face on the large terminal screen.

"Hello, Yes Man," she greeted.

"Hey there!" the bot replied, "You look a little glum today. Care to tell me about it?"

Six sighed. She wasn't sure how a bot would understand anything that she was going through.

"I don't have emotions," it said, "but I can calculate probability extremely well. Just tell me what's on your mind, and this time, thanks to my new programming, I can one-hundred percent keep a secret."

"You can?" she asked, "so, does that mean you can't say yes all the time now?"

"Yes!" the bot chuckled, "or no, rather. I can say no now. Any secret you tell me is safe."

The Courier sat down in front of Yes Man's console and crossed her legs.

"I don't know where to begin," she sighed, "Fox told me that he's a Legion agent. His real name's Vulpes Inculta. He gave me his mark to give me safe passage into Legion lands. And, when I got to the Fort to confront Benny, Vulpes told me that he loves me. But I don't love him back, and now Cass is joking with me about hooking up with him, and I just don't like that."

There. That was everything. It felt good to get it all out, truth be told.

"There was only a thirteen percent chance that Fox was a Legion agent," Yes Man marveled, "I'll add that to my databanks, though. So, what's bothering you?"

"I don't know," Six replied, "I miss him, but he's a Legionary. I can't be his friend if he's going to be like that."

"You know," the bot said, "There's a ninety eight percent chance that he doesn't want to be just your friend. Legionaries give their marks to their wives."

She started shaking as she realized that Vulpes meant what he said. He loved her, and she was the only one he had truly fallen in love with.

At least, he thought he was in love with her. Perhaps he thought she was pretty so much that he just wanted to have sex with her, and when he had what he wanted, the thrill would be over. Perhaps, she was the first woman he bothered to talk to at length, and mistook friendship for thinking he was in love. And now, she was even more confused with what Yes Man told her.

"So," she swallowed, "he loves me?"

"No idea," it replied, "insufficient data." If the robot had a body, it would have shrugged.

"And what about Cass?" Six asked.

She became instantly nauseous as she thought about her friend trying to seduce Vulpes.

"Well," Yes Man said, "if he loves you, then he won't bother with her."

"It's not that simple," she protested.

"Yes," the bot replied, "it really is that simple."

Six couldn't argue with Yes Man over this. She knew that Vulpes liked having sex with as many women as he could, and Cass liked sex almost as much as he did. If Cass truly wanted him, she could have him, and there would be nothing Six could do about it.

The Courier wished Vulpes had been Fox; she wished with all of her heart that he hadn't been a Legionary in disguise.

Six could have loved him.

* * *

><p>"Whole thing was my idea," he chuckled.<p>

Benny exhaled a ring of smoke as Swank shook his head. It felt good to be home, though he wasn't sure how long he would be able to stay. The Courier could kick him out of her newly made utopia, leaving him and Raul to wander around until they found a place they would be welcome.

"You shot that dame," Swank frowned, "didn't even give her a chance to talk with ya. I don't know how you can say that we're a classy establishment when you go and do things like that."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Raul shift uncomfortably. The ghoul followed him around since he released him from his prison on Black Mountain, never telling him anything about his history. Then again, Benny supposed he never asked.

"I wanted this," Benny admitted, "badly. And she carried the platinum chip with her, which would activate the securitron army. Then a few weeks later, she comes back here, and she appears to be working for House. The broad had me on the ropes; I had no choice. Vegas needs to swing, baby."

Swank nodded and looked down at the floor. The guy was good, but he was one hell of a softie.

"I suppose that's fine," Swank conceded, "but the lady's in charge now. If her and Mr. Smiley-bot say so, it's curtains for you, and there's nothing I could do about it."

Swank gave him a pleading look, one that said to get out of town before it was too late. But Benny knew that his former second in command wasn't the only softie on the Strip; courier Six was a damned bleeding heart. He would bet on it that she'd let him stay.

He didn't need to wait much longer before the Courier wandered into the Tops, a tall, blonde Follower tagging along on her heels. She walked toward his table and Benny stood and smiled, trying not to cringe when she didn't return the smile. He wasn't sure what turned her into a leather wearing, gun-toting dame without a smile, but Benny was sure that it was sexy as hell no matter which way he looked at it. He guessed that he had seen her like that before, but at that time, he had Legionaries breathing down his neck.

"Hey baby," he greeted, offering his hand to the Courier.

She took it, the leather of her glove unable to bulk up the size of her tiny hand. Benny shook the Follower's hand as well, and the man introduced himself as Arcade.

"Hello, sweetheart," Swank smiled.

Benny watched as the Courier's face softened for the man who used to be his second, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. He wasn't number one anymore, and this dame wouldn't smile for him. Benny always made the ladies smile.

"Hey, Swank," Six nodded, "Benny and I have a very private conversation that we need to have. Would you be kind enough to allow us to use the Tops for our meeting?"

He frowned; the broad was smarter than she looked. Instead of telling Swank what to do, she kindly made a request.

"Not a problem," Swank replied, "just let me know if you need anything." With a nod, he disappeared, leaving Benny to the wolves.

Six sat down in front of him while her unintimidating muscle stood behind her with his arms crossed. The Follower glanced around the place, as if he didn't want to be there.

"Yes Man and I had a long conversation this morning," she began, "today marked the day that he awoke from a self-induced reprogramming, where he taught himself how to say no. From here on out, Yes Man will be the protector of New Vegas and will always have the interests of the people in mind. I am now his messenger, as well as the ambassador for the people."

The gal had gotten really serious in the short time he had been absent, and Benny figured that something must have toughened her up. Then again, she did give up the chance of being the NCR's pet, as well as a Legion consort. And those creepy Legion guys really liked her, especially Fox and Old Baldy on the throne. She gave all of that up to give New Vegas a chance at freedom; perhaps she was stronger than she looked.

"You will be allowed to do as you please on the Strip," the Courier said, "just like any other citizen. You will never be permitted into the Lucky 38. This comes with the stipulation that you never reveal the identity of Fox, which has become a state secret. You are also required to behave in accordance with the laws of New Vegas."

Benny found her mention of Fox to be strange. Why was his name a state secret?

It then hit him that Fox, or rather, Vulpes, could be a double agent. The guy was clever enough, and could certainly put on any act that suited him. With this in mind, Benny found himself agreeing to keeping Fox's identity a secret.

"This all was Yes Man's idea," Six continued, "He's calculated the risk of keeping you around here, as well as other risks."

Her statement was vague enough to confirm his suspicions that Fox was a double agent.

"I'll play your game, baby," he nodded, "nothing out of my mouth about that cat, as well as a bonus promise to never shoot at you again."

"Never?" she smirked.

"Never, ever," Benny laughed.

"Good," Six smiled, "I can't stress how much Yes Man means this. Now, what you do here isn't anyone's business, so long as it doesn't interfere with society. You can work out what you can with Swank if you want; Yes Man doesn't want to involve himself in it."

Benny glanced over to where Swank sat out of hearing range and nodded. He didn't deserve to be the head of the Chairmen, but at the same time, he knew that Swank would fold like a deck of cards if he so much as hinted about wanting the job back. Swank was a good guy; he just wasn't cut out for being the head of the Chairmen, and both of them knew it.

"You'll have no complaints from me," he smiled.

The Courier nodded and shook his hand, leaving a parting sentence:

We'll be watching you.

* * *

><p>Vulpes made his way down highway 40, his back to the setting sun. His jumpsuit was plastered to his torso with sweat and his bandana was moist from collecting his breath for the greater part of the day. Each step that brought him closer to Flagstaff made him feel heavier, the weight of his responsibilities burdening him.<p>

It wasn't as if he had a choice in the matter; his entire life had been spent in the service of Caesar. Truthfully, no man in the Legion had a choice, and no man knew differently. Men were servants of Caesar, just as women were servants to the men. It was the price of creating a civilization capable of conquering.

But he and Caesar did have conversations about what they would do when they conquered New Vegas. There would be a need for healers, farmers, and ranchers; the Legion couldn't rely on trade alone. Now, he had to worry about such things. He was sure that the nearby university would have plenty of books on the subject, most notably, information on the Romans. Vulpes wasn't a fool; he was sure that whatever Caesar told him about them was carefully filtered. Soon, he would have unrestricted access to the university library, and the truth.

The first buildings of outer Flagstaff appeared, and with them, a group of Legionaries. They saw him immediately and stopped him. Taking out his mark, Vulpes identified himself. One of the Legionaries gasped, saying that Mars was exceptionally good to his Legion. He called for his decanus, who came running at the sound of Vulpes' name.

"Caesar Lanius will want to see you right away," the decanus nodded.

Vulpes didn't dare show surprise, lest it be misinterpreted as an expectation that the Butcher ought to be dead. He knew that Lanius suspected him of plotting against him, and didn't want to give him any suspicions.

"What has happened while I was gone?" he asked.

The decanus snapped his fingers at a recruit and ordered him to retrieve some water.

"A courier used an army of robots to throw the NCR out," he said, "and spoke with the Butcher. Some say she was a prophet, warning him about the dangers of spreading his empire too thin. I do not know what exactly happened, except that Caesar has crossed the river and Lanius is our sovereign."

Vulpes nodded slowly as he tried to process that Six talked the Butcher into leaving. It must have been an interesting conversation.

"Caesar Lanius sacrificed a bull and asked Mars for your safe return," the decanus continued, "and you have returned safely. Mars blesses the Legion."

He didn't want to protest, but the whole 'godhood' thing had gone too far. Vulpes understood Caesar's premise behind elevating himself to godhood; it would be easier that way to get everyone to obey. But along the same vein, the Legion now had a leader that believed that Mars existed, as well as believing that said god's voice would guide him as a leader. It was terrifying to think that things such as an eclipse or a sandstorm could potentially influence his new leader's decision-making processes.

Then again, the fact that Lanius sacrificed and asked for his safe return meant something. Perhaps he would let go of some of his hatred for him; it true, then Vulpes could slowly work on informing the Butcher of the truth of his station.

Either that or he would go out in a blaze of heretical glory. He supposed he didn't have much left to lose anyway.

* * *

><p>It felt strange, sitting on a throne that had been a sacred seat not too long ago. Lanius knew it was still sacred, but admittedly, he wasn't used to the idea of being the voice of Mars yet. As he glanced around the throne room of the re-purposed Riordan mansion, he supposed he could get used to it. The Legion's old, wooden palace had stood for centuries and survived the Great War, and it was a worthy building to house the Legion's top men.<p>

A messenger ran into the mansion, out of breath. He spoke hurriedly with the praetorians guarding the outside of the room and was ushered inside. Lanius motioned to the panting man to let him speak and watched as he bowed before him.

"Mighty Caesar," he announced, "Vulpes Inculta returns from the west. He's headed straight here to hear your commands."

The Butcher's eyes widened in shock. He assumed that the Fox had been lost to the desert, and truthfully, Lanius sacrificed the bull out of respect for the Legion's desire to see Vulpes return. Despite having a reputation for being brutal, he cared for his Legion. He also wanted to honor Caesar's wants and would take care of Vulpes, so long as he remained true to Mars and the Legion.

There was a commotion outside as guards opened the doors to the palace, allowing Vulpes to enter the building. The three surviving members of Caesar's guards smiled at him, and Lanius knew that it would be incredibly unwise to do harm to Vulpes. It made the announcement that he had disbanded the frumentarii somewhat difficult, but if Vulpes were a true legionary, then he wouldn't question.

Vulpes stepped into the throne room and knelt down before him. He wore a strange, white jumpsuit that was soaked through in places with sweat, plastered to his pale skin. A layer of desert grime coated his legs and turned his face a darker shade than the protected area where his bandana had been.

It had been years since he stayed in the same room as Vulpes for more than a minute, and Lanius knew that he had to be cautious with him. After all, Vulpes was favored by his Legion and had been personally blessed by the Son of Mars.

"Mars has seen fit to honor our sacrifice," Lanius said, "and you have returned safely. Did you complete your mission?"

He fought a chuckle as his question caught Vulpes off guard.

"I went into an abandoned Brotherhood of Steel bunker," Vulpes explained, "and was gassed and taken away. When I left, I heard what happened at the Dam and knew that my mission changed."

He watched as Vulpes reached into the pocket of his strange jumpsuit, his hand coming out with what appeared to be a golden coin.

"They're casino tokens from where I was," Vulpes nodded, "the Sierra Madre."

A gloved finger brushed against his as the Butcher received the coin from Vulpes. He turned it in his hand, finding the design curious. Its edges were certainly unique.

"And this," he continued, "is a tribute for you."

Vulpes removed the makeshift pack from his back, slung it forward, and knelt down before him to unveil two golden bricks. They were nice, but Lanius found his eyes drawn to the arms of the man in front of him as he lifted one of the bricks for him to see. Vulpes had filled out considerably since he had last taken the time to study him. He was still thin, but he turned from scrawny to sleek in a short amount of time.

Shaking the thought from his head, Lanius received the deceptively heavy brick.

"And how did you come across something like this?" he asked.

The question brought a light to Vulpes' eyes, a smirk spreading across his face. He was obviously proud of how he acquired them. The Butcher fought his instant reaction of disgust and waited for an explanation.

"After my capture, I discovered that my captor was a Brotherhood elder," he replied, "this man wanted the treasure of the casino, and I helped him acquire it. Unfortunately for him, the vault was a trap. So, I took these bars, and showed him exactly how we punish those who oppose us."

"And that was?" Lanius growled. Vulpes was speaking with as many words as possible, reminding the Butcher partially of why he never liked the man.

"I locked him in the vault," he purred, "There is no escape. He will starve to death in there, his ill-gotten treasure the only thing to keep him company."

For a moment, Lanius paused. What Vulpes did seemed elaborately cruel, but it had a sort of poetic beauty.

"I approve," the Butcher nodded, surprising even himself.

And there it was, the tiny smirk that let him know that his approval pleased Vulpes. It was difficult to tell with this one, but Lanius had the impression that Vulpes would do anything necessary to gain his approval, much like Caesar before him.

But he still doubted that he could be retaught and Lanius had no idea what to do with him.

"We have changed," he started, "the Frumentarii are no more, and dissenters will be executed."

There was a brief flash of hurt in Vulpes' eyes as he processed that essentially, he was nothing.

"Do you dissent?" Lanius growled. He waited for Vulpes to give him cause.

"No," he nodded, "the Voice of Mars is wise." He averted his gaze in subordination and the Butcher found himself surprisingly pleased. Then again, Vulpes could be trying to manipulate him.

"Good," he replied, "we will not wage war like that anymore. A man should face his opponent face to face in battle, without treachery."

He couldn't help but study the man before him, his eyes trailing from his angular face downward. Lanius glanced at a damp patch of sweat on his clothes, a small trail of black hair on his stomach visible underneath the flimsy jumpsuit. Vulpes certainly changed in a few years, becoming bewitchingly pretty. But he was staring.

Quickly, Lanius tried to focus on something else other than attempting to see through the jumpsuit. It was then that he saw the electronic device on his arm.

"What is that?" he frowned, pointing at the device.

Vulpes couldn't hide his unease as he looked at his arm.

"It's a pip-boy," he replied, "it was given to me to keep track of where I was in the casino. It has a set of maps, as well as radio tuning and item logging."

He didn't care. The Legion didn't use devices like that.

"Get rid of it," Lanius ordered. He wouldn't have a top officer sullied by the very thing that helped destroy the world.

The Butcher watched as Vulpes slowly removed the device and handed it to him. He was visibly reluctant to give it away, and Lanius knew instantly that he made the correct decision. Sighing, he waved his hand to dismiss Vulpes and told him to get a meal and a bath.

He still wasn't quite sure what to do with Vulpes, but his purpose would be revealed in time.

* * *

><p>Six could see the billow of smoke from the cocktail lounge, and it set off a wave of panic deep in her stomach. Where was it coming from?<p>

The Courier abandoned her plants and ran for the elevator, shouting for securitrons to follow her. They ran out of the Strip, ignoring people's questions as to where the fire was located. As she ran, a securitron informed her about what was going on.

"Yes Man is attempting to contain the situation," it said, "the NCR Sharecropper farms are on fire."

This was very bad. They were going to use the abandoned farm to help their independence efforts, as well as provide food for Freeside's poor.

Six left Freeside and ran toward the column of smoke, watching as securitrons and people ran back and forth from any available water pumps. Inside the chain-link fence, the NCR's abandoned crops burned; they hadn't been watered for the two weeks up to the NCR leaving, leaving the farm dry as a pack of matches.

Securitrons pumped water into large tubs as quickly as possible before pouring them on the blaze. At other pumps, people did the same with buckets, knowing the importance of the farm. But their efforts had been for nothing; the fire destroyed all of the crops and some of the equipment.

Six tried to keep it together as townspeople turned to her and asked what they should do. Some were sad, others, angry that they gave up what the NCR could have provided.

One of the securitrons wheeled up to her, its face switching to Yes Man's smile. Six let out a sigh of relief, knowing that Yes Man would know what to do.

"Everyone," Six announced, "this is Yes Man. He's the one that made it possible for us to throw the NCR out, and he'll make it possible that we can survive this. He has access to all of Mr. House's old data and can calculate the best possible decision to make in every circumstance. Yes Man exists to further the interests of the people, not the interests of House, the NCR, or the Legion."

The crowd murmured among themselves, frowning at the robot in their midst. Six hoped that Yes Man's reprogramming gave him a better grasp on how to talk to people, or they could have another mob on their hands.

"I understand the importance of having a person involved in this," it said, "because humans don't trust bots very well. That's why I've chosen Six and her companions to act as go-betweens. We're going to send out an announcement on Radio New Vegas today, asking for the nearby towns to send representatives for their new government. We're going to assess everyone's needs and go from there. A big part of this is making sure that Freeside and Westside get food."

People nodded as the bot spoke. Perhaps they were still uneasy with having a robot running their government, but Six was confident that in time, they would get used to it and even grow to like Yes Man.

"What will be in this radio announcement?" a man in the crowd shouted.

"I'm so glad you asked," Yes Man replied, "we'll be calling for representatives, as well as calling for traders and people who want to work. The ultimate goal is to generate revenue from tourism as well as start some vineyards."

"Vineyards?" another asked, scratching his head.

"Wine farms," the bot replied, "grapes do well in dry ground. We'll also be asking the Followers of the Apocalypse to help with education. Apparently, Freeside and Westside have a sixty-seven percent illiteracy rate, and that's no good. Everyone should be able to read."

"Sounds good," the man drawled, "maybe we'll like our robot overlord."

"My calculations say that the majority of you will," Yes Man said.

The crowd began to disperse, and some walked around the farm, seeing what could be salvaged. Yes Man told Six to meet him back at the Lucky 38, and the Courier nodded. They had to make the message.

She left a group of securitrons with the people to keep order and make sure nobody got hurt sifting through the rubble. Making her way through Freeside, Six trudged her way up the stairs to the Lucky 38. As she rode the elevator up to the penthouse, the Courier wondered what could have caused the fire.

The elevator doors opened and Six hurried down the stairs to where Yes Man waited.

"Hello again!" it greeted, "You're probably wondering what caused the fire."

Six nodded slowly, afraid to hear what Yes Man had to say.

"Well," it replied, "the NCR decided that they didn't want to give us that farm and put it on timed charges. Pretty mean, huh? It's like if they can't have Vegas, then nobody can."

It didn't surprise her in the least. This kind of attitude was exactly why she wanted to get rid of the NCR's presence in New Vegas to begin with.

"But don't worry," Yes Man continued, "there's a seventy six percent chance that we'll all make it through this just fine."

Six frowned. There was still the chance that they wouldn't make it. Besides, Yes Man had been wrong about Vulpes being a Legion agent.

But being afraid didn't matter; Six committed to this, and she would see it through to the end.


	39. Chapter 39

A/n: I'm working as hard and as fast as I can before the semester starts next week. Thanks again to everyone for being awesome :)

* * *

><p>There were tornadoes coming, and the whole town was a disaster area. Six wandered through a maze of tangled skyscrapers, trying to find the shelter. The sky was green, the wind blowing strongly off the bay, causing ripples across the river. She didn't know where she was, didn't know why she was barefoot when there was so much glass around. All she knew was she needed to make sure the man was safe, as well as the dogs.<p>

The dogs were at home, right in the path of the storms. Six made her way through the tall, ruined buildings to an old neighborhood, and finally to the place where the dogs were. They wouldn't take the dogs at the shelter, so Six cried and said goodbye to them, kissing the one on top of his head, and kissing Rex on the bridge of his nose.

Storms closed in, dumping rain all over the Courier and forcing her to try to find shelter. To her left, a tornado formed, touched down, and tore all of the old-world buildings to pieces. It drew closer and tore a nearby tree out of the ground. The world was a flash of gray and green as it barreled past Six, and all she could think of was the dogs, and how they would be so scared, how the storm would tear them apart like houses.

And in an instant, everything stilled and the sky was a yellow-gray again. Six looked around in wonder as she realized that she survived such a nasty storm. Others who survived wandered around and looked at their destroyed homes, their voices on mute.

She wasn't sure what to do; she didn't know where the man had been during the storm, and all she knew was that man was her world, as well as the dogs. If she lost both, she wasn't sure what she would do.

The sound of an engine rumbled behind her and Six was surprised to see a man wearing a cream-colored suit pull up in a fancy corvega.

"You look like you survived the big one," he smiled, "come in. I'll give you a ride back to your house."

His voice and smile were as greasy as the pomade used to comb back his hair, which hid under a brown fedora. The man lit a cigarette then drove down the roads, talking to her. Each time he tried to say her name, not a sound came out, but he didn't let on if he noticed.

Six knew that she shouldn't have gotten in the car with this man, and had no idea why she agreed to join him.

She waited to see a road sign that she knew, or some kind of familiar landmark, but none came. The man in the cream-colored suit drove around and around, making turn after turn through the pre-war neighborhoods. It suddenly came to her that this man was trying to get her lost.

Six stared at his profile and his familiar beady eyes behind lightly tinted sunglasses. She should have never done what this man said, but he had talked her into getting into the car with him.

Before she knew it, Six was out of the car and running. She didn't dare look behind her for the man in the cream suit as she screamed for help. He was going to rape her, then chop her into a thousand tiny pieces and feed her to the mirelurks. Nobody would know what happened.

Six ran up to doors and pounded on them in the hope that people would be inside. But each house stood like a wooden grave marker, unyielding and devoid of life.

Eventually, she was sure that she lost her assailant, and Six wandered around the streets, hoping to find something familiar. After a moment's pondering, she realized that she was back where she started before she took her ill-fated car ride.

She saw a street sign for Old Dominion Drive and knew exactly where she was. Six turned around and sighed as she realized that her home was right behind her, and was intact as well. She ran up to the door, burst into the house, and shouted for the dogs. They bounded over toward her and she hugged them fiercely as they tried to wiggle away and play.

Six would have been happy, but the man she couldn't live without wasn't there and hadn't been for a long time.

* * *

><p>It didn't take long for Boone to retreat to the bottle, this time much heavier than he had in the past. Being on the trail gave him considerable time to think. He didn't want to think, didn't want to dwell on how much of a worthless piece of shit he was for everything he had done in his life. Boone was a fuck-up, and he didn't deserve anything more than a bullet to the skull. Even then, he supposed that was too much of a mercy. Perhaps the Legion had something right going on with crucifixions; guys like him deserved a slow, painful death. And on that vein, scotch was the way he would go.<p>

Hangovers didn't happen much anymore, just the occasional puking from having too much. But too much was always a hell of a lot more than a normal person should have; too much for Craig Boone was an amount that could kill a normal person.

He always pictured that he would die in a blaze of glory, taking on a huge group of Legionaries. Instead, Boone ran from his problems, ran away from the Mojave, and ran away from the people he had gotten close to. He wondered what happened to Six when the NCR caught her and morbidly wondered how she had been executed. Boone imagined her shaking and crying as they put her in front of a firing squad, pleading with them before they pulled the trigger.

Six was another woman from a time long past, an idealistic fool like Carla had been. They were both victims of the cruelty of the wasteland, and he had been too inept to save either.

Jed slowed down eventually to walk side by side with him. Boone knew what was coming next, but he liked the man enough to listen to him, even if he wouldn't take the advice he was sure to receive.

"You're awfully silent, Mr. Boone," he remarked, "I suppose they didn't tell you that the wilderness can make a man think."

"I'd think anyway," Boone replied, "even if I hadn't come along. Thinking happens a lot, no matter what you do to try not to do it."

Jed nodded thoughtfully for a moment, as if picking his next words carefully.

"Then share a thought with me, sir," he said, "It doesn't have to be anything deep."

Boone chuckled and tried to think of something to say.

"I'm trying to think of a thought," he finally said, "but I've got no thoughts to share, really. I suppose that's what they want out of soldiers, never thinking, never questioning."

Jed nodded again and gave him a long look that said he was trying to understand.

"But you just thought," He replied, "and you question. You know you're better than a just a gun. A man can think until his thoughts are all over the place, until he goes crazy from trying to make sense of it all. Sometimes, things just don't make sense, Mr. Boone."

Boone nodded slowly as Jed gave him a pat on the back. He knew what the man said was true, but it didn't make anything better.

Boone couldn't take back what he had done, and justice would come to punish him again.

* * *

><p>Six walked into the Ultra Luxe casino, the doorman immediately stopping her and asking her to disarm. Though she could have said no, she agreed and handed Maria over because she didn't want to start a fuss. The White Glove marveled at her beautiful weapon and said that it was surely to be the newest trend for the wealthy. Six supposed that was all right, but she knew it would be near impossible for people to get replicas, not when gold was so scarce.<p>

In the center of the entryway, she saw Heck Gunderson, the man she wanted to talk to. He controlled the majority of the beef trade to the Strip, and Six wanted to see about solidifying that deal. Turning, he saw her and waved her over.

"Miss Courier," he asked, "You haven't seen my son around, have you?"

"No sir," she replied.

Heck frowned and shook his head.

"Ain't nobody got one darned piece of news about my boy?" he groused, "Not one speck of information?"

"What's wrong?" Six asked. She couldn't ask him for anything if he had a problem.

"Ted's gone missing," he sighed, "his mother's beside herself with worry. And nobody's been able to find him. How does a twenty-four year old from out of town get lost in a hotel? And those guards that your fella gave me, they up and left as soon as the war broke out."

"I don't know about the guards," Six offered, "but I should have clearance to get around here to see what happened to your son. You're here during a great time for New Vegas."

"That was one hell of a heathen party," Mr. Gunderson admitted, "I didn't know that folks around here wanted the NCR out so badly. Back home, they make it sound like we were wanted, like our presence was asked for."

"For some people," she replied, "yes. But for Freeside and the poorer areas, no. We'd love to trade with the NCR."

He nodded in thought as Six planted the seed of an idea in the brahmin baron's head.

"I'll go talk to the head of the family," Six offered, "and she'll get everyone on full alert. There's something strange about this."

Mr. Gunderson agreed, thanked her, and gave her a big handshake. With a quick nod, Six set off to find Marjorie, the leader of the White Gloves. It took nothing more than a single question to one of the masked workers to be pointed in the direction of the Gourmand.

As Six stepped into the Ultra Luxe's restaurant, she couldn't help but think of the date she and Vulpes had there. The Courier still couldn't believe she had been so bold as to give him head under the table, but then again, she had been halfway to drunk. She just hoped that doing it hadn't lost the respect of the White Gloves.

The woman at the reception lifted her head and smiled when Six entered. This was where she had been told that Marjorie worked, so it had to be her.

"Welcome to the Ultra Luxe," she said, "I do hope it exceeds your every expectation." Marjorie grabbed her pencil, ready to take a reservation.

"Hello," Six smiled, "I'm looking for someone who went missing here recently."

Marjorie frowned as she put down her pencil.

"This again?" she sighed, "I answered every one of the investigator's questions as best I could. I know our reputation hasn't always been spotless, but things have changed. For the last time, the White Glove Society has never and never will consume human flesh for any reason. It's written in the charter."

"You used to eat human flesh?" Six gasped. No wonder the White Gloves were mistrusted.

"Now didn't I tell you that we don't do that sort of thing?" Marjorie insisted, "We do not engage in cannibalism in the White Glove society. Now there was another time, a dark time, when we went by a different name. But that's all different now! We've evolved such base things, and I've ensured that such things are behind us."

"Okay, that sounds good," Six nodded, "And I promise that this isn't about that. Can I speak with the investigator?"

"Sure," Marjorie replied, "He was hired when a young bride-to-be went missing last week. Well, you can already guess that she got cold feet and ran off. That poor young groom had no idea."

"I'm investigating someone else," the Courier frowned, "Ted Gunderson went missing recently."

Marjorie's eyes widened in shock.

"Him?" she asked, "Two disappearances in my hotel? Well, this can't be. People will start saying things. I'm going to have a word with my staff about security on the premises. People need to feel safe in their own rooms. You should speak with Mortimer at the reception desk about where he is staying. We gave the investigator a room and are letting him stay there free of charge until he is completely satisfied. That is how we operate here."

"That's the kind of attitude that makes our city great," Six nodded.

She said a quick goodbye to Marjorie before making her way back toward the hotel lobby. All around her, people stared as they talked about her clothes. She heard the word 'blowjob' occasionally and her face turned red. Everybody knew that she and Fox had some sort of connection, and admittedly, that suited Six just fine. Let them talk; he loved every second of what she did. Besides, they could always turn their heads and not look.

Six walked up to the hotel desk and greeted the man out front. He wore a tuxedo, and his face was uncovered beneath a matching tuxedo hat. Raptor-like eyes and a sharp beak of a nose peered out from under the brim of his hat, a tiny, dark mustache finishing off his villainous ensemble.

"How may I be of service, madam?" he asked, pressing his hands together in an unsurprising, evil gesture.

She had to remind herself to be nice, that his appearance couldn't mean that he was evil. After all, Caesar had a kind, almost fatherly face, and he was responsible for crimes innumerable.

Six greeted him and introduced herself, shaking his surprisingly strong hand. Beneath the mask of civilization, Mortimer looked weathered, as if he had spent most of his life in the sun. A line of very faint silver scars lined one cheek and reminded Six that this man was a tribal long before he'd become a White Glove.

"Marjorie said you gave a free room to a private investigator," Six said.

"Yes, I remember the gentleman," Mortimer replied, "this is about the missing bride. Such a tragedy. If I may pry, can I ask if you've found anything about this investigation?"

He was smooth, but he wasn't Vulpes' level of smooth. Mortimer was hiding something, and likely knew more than he let on about the disappearances.

"Unfortunately, no," she frowned, "this is state business."

It wasn't even a lie; an NCR citizen had gotten lost in her city, and if he wasn't found, it could seriously damage already strained relations with the NCR. Though it had been anarchy since the battle, things settled down considerably in the past few days. She couldn't picture Ted running off to party without telling his parents, nor could she honestly picture people wanting his company for very long.

"Of course," Mortimer nodded, "Ordinarily, we don't give out guest information, but given the circumstances, I'll let you know."

He flipped through his guest book, grabbed a sheet of paper, and wrote down the room number on it. Giving her quick directions, Mortimer directed her to the proper elevator. Six quickly thanked him and went on her way.

It was a short elevator ride to the hotel rooms, and Six got off the elevator. Hotel visitors stared at her and chuckled amongst themselves about how she looked like she had just rolled around in the desert. Frowning, Six searched for the room number on the paper. She realized that most didn't know who she was, and that was an issue. She would have to talk to Yes Man about having something to wear that set her apart from others.

Finding the hotel room, Six opened the door and gasped. The investigator was on the floor in a pool of blood, his room ransacked as if there had been a struggle. Six searched through his pockets and found a matchbook that had 'steam room, 4 pm' written on the inside cover. This man was going to meet someone, but he had been offed before they had a chance to meet.

A rustling sounded behind Six and she whirled around just in time to dodge a cane. Two White Gloves blocked the doorway, their metal-plated canes ready to attack her. One of them gave chase and Six ran toward the downed lamp on the nightstand. It played out like an old holotape as she smashed the lamp against one of the men's heads, rendering him unconscious. Six snatched his dropped cane and rounded on the other White Glove. He abandoned his weapon in favor of grabbing hers, and the two began a struggle. She was much weaker than him, truly defenseless as he overpowered her and pushed her onto the bed. Six kicked and screamed as he pushed the cane closer to her neck. She should have never let Maria out of her sight; without her gun, she couldn't fight.

One of her kicks landed and the White Glove groaned and fell to the floor. Wasting no time, Six grabbed the cane and began beating the man's head in relentlessly. She didn't stop until she was sure that he was dead. Panting, Six disappeared into the bathroom to wipe the blood from her leather outfit, and rinsed the cane in the sink. Satisfied that she had gotten clean enough, Six left the room and shut the door behind her. She quickly glanced to her pip-boy and saw that it was almost five to four, and she had to hurry if she wanted to get to the informant on time.

Afraid to catch more White Glove attention, the Courier asked a hotel guest where to find the steam room. They directed her down the hall and through an elevator. Six nodded and followed the directions as quickly as possible. Stepping out of the elevator, she was greeted by the sight of a large pool. Six walked past it toward the back of the room, hoping to find the steam room through the door.

A man in a tuxedo sat on the bench, the steam in the room turned off.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Six shut the door behind her, keeping the cane at ready.

"Just someone who found a matchbook," she replied.

"What about the man I gave it to?" he asked, his expression suspicious.

"Dead," Six clipped.

She stepped across the threshold to the private steam room as a look of shock crossed the man's face. He couldn't mean her harm, not if he was trying to help the investigator come to the bottom of the disappearances.

"Oh my goodness," the man remarked, "That means they knew he was talking to someone on the inside. That means they'll be watching everyone closer now. I knew this was a mistake."

"Who are you afraid of?" she asked, "You do know that I can offer protection. What's your name?"

"I'm Chauncey," he frowned, "and Mortimer is going to be out for me. If he knew it was me that the investigator was planning to meet, then he'd kill me."

"Do you know who I am?" Six asked.

Chauncey shook his head.

"I'm Courier Six," she replied, "I can give you a safe place to live while this blows over, but you have to tell me everything. This can't happen to anyone else."

He nodded slowly in agreement.

"The White Glove society forbids eating humans," Chauncey began, "but we weren't always the White Glove Society. Mortimer and some of the others have regressed to the old ways. They've taken many people over the past few months, always from Freeside or another place where they wouldn't be missed. Lately they've been going after tourists on the Strip, even people in the hotel."

She tried not to show her disgust at the thought of eating people. No wonder Vulpes told her not to eat the food here; it was probably laced with people.

"I'm looking for a young man," Six said, "in his mid twenties. His name's Ted Gunderson."

"Yeah, they've got him alive," Chauncey replied, "They're trying to keep him fresh. Mortimer has special plans for him. There's a banquet every night at seven in our private section. Since cannibalism is a crime we punish by death, he's going to do it in secret at dinner. He'll feed him to everyone, then reveal the secret afterward. With no way to punish everyone, he hopes that everyone will change their minds and allow us to eat humans again."

Never in her wildest dreams had Six thought that she would have to outlaw cannibalism officially, but the need was there nonetheless. Hopefully Yes Man would have the proper words to say for the law; she couldn't think of things other than saying 'because it's wrong and gross'.

"Where are they keeping Ted?" she asked.

"I wasn't in on it," Chauncey sighed, "I think they stopped trusting me. But you can bet that it's near the Gourmand. The cook, Philippe, likes his ingredients fresh as possible."

Six glanced at her pip-boy and tried to formulate a plan. The dinner would be in less than two hours, and Ted would be killed very soon if she didn't find him.

"I'll get going then," she said, "let's get you out of here. Make like you're going on vacation, and I'll have securitrons meet you at the casino entrance, where they will escort you to the King's place. We'll figure out what to do from there."

"Thanks," he smiled, "I hope you get to the bottom –"

Chauncey stilled as a bullet pierced his skull. Six darted to the side of the doorframe as the shooter shot him again, making sure he was dead. Angered, the Courier waited with her cane at ready; she hadn't had time to save this man who had saved the lives of countless people by telling her everything.

In the next room, Six heard the shooter's weight press down on a loose metal grate. They were getting closer. The man took the fatal step into the private steam room and Six bashed in his face with the heavy metal cane. He crumpled to the ground as the Courier grabbed his gun and finished him off. Grimacing, Six propped the dead men against the far wall in the hopes that their blood would run down the floor drain instead of into the next room. She then cleaned herself and the cane off, shut the door, and searched the room for something to block the door with. A roll of caution tape caught her eye and Six hurriedly stretched it across the doorway.

She made her way back through the pool and the hotel rooms to get back to the Gourmand. Six had to have access to the White Gloves' private dinner. Perhaps, she could expose Mortimer there and save Ted in the process.

Marjorie greeted her as she walked up and gave her a smile.

"I haven't gotten to meet all of you," Six smiled, "would I be able to join you for dinner this evening?"

The word 'meet' felt disgusting on her tongue.

"Why, yes!" Marjorie exclaimed, "That would be an excellent idea. Here is a key to our exclusive dining room. We have dinner around seven. Will you be bringing a guest?" She gave her a conspiratory grin, and in that instant, Six knew that Marjorie knew what she did in the restaurant.

"No guest," she shrugged, "just me."

"Ah, well," the woman sighed, "I believe your red dress would be appropriate attire for this evening."

Yes, she definitely knew, but Marjorie didn't indicate that it bothered her.

Six said a quick goodbye and made her way back to the greeter to retrieve Maria. And as he handed the gun back to her, she knew that she wouldn't leave it behind this time.

The Courier jogged back to the Lucky 38 and hopped into the elevator, impatient as it rolled up to the presidential suite. When it opened, she went into her room and began to remove her clothes.

"Well howdy," Cass drawled, "didn't want to shut the door, I see."

Six hadn't spoken with her at length in a while, though if it bothered Cass, she couldn't say.

"There's trouble at the Ultra Luxe," Six replied.

The caravaner nodded and grabbed the cane that Six inadvertently brought with her. She twirled it around, picking at it with her calloused fingers.

"I'll say," Cass nodded, "this cane's bent in a bunch of directions."

Six took the dress that Vulpes gave her out of her wardrobe and tossed it over her head.

"I'm bringing my gun all the way in this time," Six said, "I don't want to be caught without it."

Cass nodded and examined Maria's holster. Something didn't please her about it and she removed the pistol, grabbing the cream-colored ribbon that Veronica tied around Six's ankle. Wrapping the ribbon around the pistol's muzzle, she hiked the Courier's dress up around her thighs.

"This ain't a conceal pistol," she remarked, "but if you keep it on the inside, you should be fine. You're lucky you've got some skinny legs. They don't match the rest of ya."

With the gun tied to her inner thigh, Six turned every way she could think in the mirror, as well as sitting on the nearby bed to see if it would be visible. Cass did an excellent job of hiding it; nobody would know that Six had a weapon on her.

The Caravaner was staring at her arm, and Six looked down to see a faint bruise in the shape of a large hand wrapped around her bicep.

"You sure it's trouble at the Ultra Luxe?" Cass asked, "that's an awfully big handprint there. ' Cause you're wearing that dress, a gal could think–"

"No," Six interrupted, "I promise that it's the White Gloves. I can't say anything about it now, because I need to get there right now or someone could die."

Cass gave her a sad smile and shook her head.

"Shit," she sighed, "you grew up awfully fast. I didn't want to come along with you on your journey, but I couldn't just let a gal like you run off on your own. You've grown a hell of a pair, Courier Six."

As she drew Six in for a hug and told her to be safe, Six couldn't help but feel bad. She had let the memory of a man whose friendship was a lie get in the way of being friends with Cass. Six promised Cass to stay safe, and quietly promised herself that she would try harder to be less of a child.

She stepped into the elevator and made her way down to the casino level. As soon as she exited the Lucky 38, Six glanced down at her pip-boy. She had less than an hour and a half left.

Six walked as fast as possible toward the Ultra Luxe and entered the reception area. The doorman stopped her and she told him that she had no weapons.

"Not a problem," he replied, "and I must say, you look stunning. Is there an occasion?"

"I'm joining the Society for dinner this evening," she nodded.

The doorman seemed delighted and gave her directions toward the members-only section, his eyes smiling behind his eerie mask.

Six nodded and made her way back to the Gourmand. Marjorie was missing from her post, another White Glove in her place. She supposed that the White Glove founder was getting ready for dinner, and Six took the opportunity to sneak back behind the desk and enter the kitchen area.

She watched as workers with flamers seared enormous racks of brahmin ribs in the next room. Six crept into the room and out the side, tiptoeing on the balls of her feet to keep her heels from clicking on the floor. She continued in the same way through the maze of hallways that made up the kitchens until she came across the main kitchen.

A man stood in front of a stove, and Six panicked, not knowing what to do. He turned around and saw her; it was too late.

"What are you doing here?" he snapped, "Do you think the world just sits by while you stand there drooling? Get back to work."

Her jaw dropped. Nobody had ever spoken to her like that before.

"Who do you think you are, talking to me that way?" she asked.

"Who the fuck do you think I am?" he snorted, "I'm the fucking god of fucking New Vegas brahmin fusion cuisine, that's who I am. No, that doesn't even give me the credit I deserve. I fucking invented edible food. You like eating, right? Good. Then you owe me your entire goddamned garbage existence."

Oh, so this was Philippe. She wished he hadn't been so mean, but at the same time, being a head chef had to be a difficult job. Six figured she had better attempt to diffuse the situation before he drew the attention of the guards.

"I think you have me confused with someone else," she said.

"Oh, so with your floozy-whore dress," Philippe replied, "your disgusting, greasy tits hanging out all over the place, and your complete lack of human dignity, you're not a server?"

He motioned wildly with his spatula, bits of food dripping off. Six wondered how he hadn't managed to spill any on himself or her in his anger.

"Nope," Six replied, "but being so angry and mean kind of tells me that you've got some unresolved issues in your past."

She knew she had to be right; there was no way that someone would be this mean if they didn't have a bad past. Nobody was born this way.

"What kind of harebrained psychobabble bullshit is that?" he hissed, "I yell at people because I like yelling at people, and because they fucking deserve it. Not because Mumsy and Daddy-kins didn't hug me enough."

"You may be projecting," Six replied, "It's okay to talk about things that hurt. I talk to my friends about things that upset me, and it helps just to have someone listen. And I care about everyone in this city. So, tell me, what's wrong? What did your parents do?"

Philippe rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

"I see how it is," he huffed, "you think because my father walked out on us when I was five that now I have to yell at people. Or because my mother was a deranged chem fiend who brought strange men home all the time and told me to call them uncle. Or because my sisters would lock me in a shipping crate when they didn't want me around, and my brother –"

He bit his lip and stared at the ground. Six felt terrible for him. This wasn't a meanie; this was someone that had deep issues in his past that hurt him.

"God, I'd forgotten about that," he mumbled, "How could they do that to me?"

"Does talking about it feel better?" the Courier asked.

"I can't stay here," he sighed, "I need to be alone."

"What about the banquet?" Six asked. If Philippe left, then she could get Ted out.

"You know what?" he shouted, "I don't fucking care about the banquet. You can be the star chef. Here, take my recipes!"

He threw his recipe cards in the air and they fluttered to the ground as he stormed away. Philippe turned his head to give her a parting sentence.

"It won't fill the hole though," he said, "just remember that. You'll always feel empty."

Six shook her head at the empty doorway and looked at the scattered recipe cards. She gathered them up quickly, stopping when she saw one for a human flesh approximation. The Courier looked at the ingredients, and knew that she could do this. She prepared it exactly as the card said, placed it on a platter, and attempted to arrange it to make it look nice like all of the other side dishes. Walking over to the intercom, she pressed the button to call the headwaiter, who answered immediately.

"Time to serve the meal," she announced, "I'm leaving it on the counter."

"I'll be on my way," the waiter replied.

Quickly, Six picked the lock on a door in the corner of the room and darted inside to hide from the waiter. There was a shuffling to her right and the Courier turned to come face to face with Ted Gunderson.

"You better not be in on this," he said, crossing his arms and pouting.

"I'm going to get you out of here," Six said. She walked closer to see if he was okay.

"My daddy sent you?" he asked, "Goddammit, I almost died in here! What the hell took you so long? It's just one damn hotel. Who did this to me anyway? They hit me over the head before I got a look at them. I swear, when I find out who did this –"

Six clamped her hand over his mouth as she heard movement in the kitchen.

"Gotta stay quiet," she whispered, "they're right outside the door."

Ted nodded and fidgeted to get out of her grasp. Six let go when she had a good idea that he would be quiet, and motioned for him to stay that way. The Courier waited for the movement in the kitchen to stop then cracked the door to peek out. There was nobody in the room.

"Let's go," she whispered.

Crouching, Six led Ted out into the hallway and up the stairs. She hoped that the door in front of them would lead to the White Gloves' private dining hall. Opening the door, the Courier was relieved to find out she had been right. She motioned for Ted to follow her quietly behind a bar counter while they listened to Mortimer speak to the White Gloves. He was all she could see of them; the rest of the room was blocked by the bar, and she didn't dare peek above it.

"But we are living a lie," he said, "there is a meat sweeter than any corn-fed livestock. Among us, it is a crime to speak of the old ways that made us a people. Tonight, all of that ends. The taboo is over."

He put his hands up, trying to placate the crowd.

"Let me finish, Marjorie," Mortimer continued, "You all don't know it yet, but you all are guilty of the greatest crimes, that bears the harshest punishment. Surely now that you are all guilty, you are all given amnesty. We should open renewed discussion. For our society to be truly exclusive, we should dine on the most delicious, most incredible flesh known to us. And tonight, for the first time as a society, we are sampling that very forbidden meat, the way it was meant to be eaten!"

Six took that as her cue to emerge from behind the bar. The attention of the room snapped in her direction as she walked forward, with Ted in tow.

"Bad news, Mortimer," she announced, "nobody's eating the person you kidnapped tonight."

"You were gonna eat me?" Ted squawked.

"Then who are we eating right now?" Mortimer asked, gesturing to the food on the table.

"Secret recipe," Six shrugged, "It isn't human, though, I can tell you that."

Marjorie sighed in relief and put her hand over her chest then turned an angry gaze toward Mortimer.

"No, these are all lies," he pleaded, "I never kidnapped anyone. And if I did, there's no harm done! The guy's right there, just fine."

"Too late," Six quipped, "You already said too much."

The crowd at the table began to murmur amongst themselves, the word 'uncouth' coming up more than once.

"You're all hypocrites!" Mortimer shouted, "How can you claim to be connoisseurs if you deny yourselves the greatest of all meats? I am ashamed to call you my family!"

"I can't let you escape where you can do this to someone else," Six replied, "the penalty for kidnap and murder is death."

She drew Maria from her hiding place as the White Gloves nodded in agreement. Without hesitation, Six pulled the trigger and shot Mortimer. Marjorie approached the Courier to have a word with her.

"Oh, oh my," she sighed, "and in front of all these people, too. He was always a bit of a pill, Mortimer. He was so pouty when I decided to ban eating people, and now, this. I should have paid more attention to the warning signs. Can you imagine what people would have said? It would have been a complete scandal if it weren't for you."

"Well, I'll have to talk Mr. Gunderson down," Six said, "it's not over yet."

Marjorie cringed and wished her luck, as Ted snorted and earned a glare from the pair. Six led him out toward the lobby where his father and mother waited.

Mr. Gunderson turned at the sight of his son and sighed in relief.

"Ted!" he called, "are you alright?"

"Quit yer hollerin," Ted grumbled, "I'm fine."

Heck Gunderson growled, grabbed his son by the back of the neck, and squeezed as he issued a stern warning against sassing him. Letting Ted go, he gave him a quick pat on the back as he wandered off to the bar.

"You've got my boy back," Mr. Gunderson smiled, "I've got no words. You're one heck of a gal, Miss Courier. I was hoping someone like you or Fox would come along. Now I hope you didn't take care of whoever did this. I want to skin their hides myself."

"It was Mortimer," Six cringed, "one of the White Gloves, who had Ted taken. He's a cannibal."

As Mr. Gunderson's face turned red, the Courier supposed she could have worded that better. Next to him, Mrs. Gunderson stared at Six and shook her head.

"Well, that does it!" Heck shouted, "None of those maniacs will ever do business with Heck Gunderson so long as they live. I'll put together a damned blockade and hit em where it hurts. They want food? There won't be any food, not for anyone in this whole damn town!"

Victoria grabbed her husband's sleeve and tugged on it.

"Heck," she pleaded, "you can't do that. The city will starve."

"It's a goddamned monument to inhumanity," he grumbled, "let them starve! It's what this hellhole deserves."

So, the actions of one person made it okay to torch the entire plan? The thought made Six angry, but she took a deep breath to try to keep it together.

"It was the actions of one person," she replied, "and you're going to starve my entire city? When people get hungry, they get desperate. I'm trying to get everyone to work together, trying to get them to be better to each other. Not everyone's like Mortimer."

Mr. Gunderson let out the breath he had been holding and his face began to become less red. Shaking his head, he looked at Six.

"I don't like this place," he said, "the whole Strip really. But you've got a point. I couldn't starve the good folk out of here, not when you're trying to make an honest place out of the Strip. We need more brave people like you out in the world, more smart, honest young folks like you and Fox to lead this generation."

Mr. Gunderson glanced toward his son at the bar and sighed.

"I hoped some of Fox's savvy would rub off on the boy," he admitted, "kid's as loud and obnoxious as I was at that age."

Victoria Gunderson stared at the floor, the color drained from her face.

"What's wrong, darlin?" he asked.

"I was worried," she replied, "but now I'm happy. Heck, you're doing a great thing for these people."

Six excused herself quickly, telling them that she wanted to get going to make sure the White Gloves had everything under control. She didn't want to talk about Fox, who Mr. Gunderson obviously adored. He wasn't the person that he thought he was.

* * *

><p>A scream woke him up, an odd sound to hear in the heart of Flagstaff. Caesar Lanius bolted upright, slid out of bed, and grabbed his blade. The creaky wooden floor of the old mansion was always cold, and it served to further awaken him.<p>

One of the praetorians peeked into the room to make sure that he was fine, telling him that three off duty guards were checking on the noise. The Butcher didn't care; he would go where he pleased and didn't need someone to go do something for him. Despite the praetorians' wary looks, Lanius left his room and wandered down the hall in the direction of the noise.

He caught up with Marcus, Crassius, and Ossian on the way, each in various states of half-dressed. Admittedly, he found himself enjoying the view. Perhaps, he could have more disturbances in the middle of the night to further his enjoyment.

"Sounded like it came from Vulpes' room," Marcus murmured.

The Butcher grunted as he figured that someone stabbed Caesar's late favorite in his sleep. That had to be the scream.

He watched as Marcus slammed open the bedroom door, the guards pouring into the room. Lanius was the last to enter, and the sight that greeted him wasn't what he imagined.

Vulpes sat in bed, unclothed, the sheets pooling at his waist. He panted and stared numbly in front of him, his eyes wild as if he had been attacked by some unseen force. With each gasping breath he drew, the Butcher could see the lines of Vulpes' ribs stretched over his pale, sweaty skin. Opposite him, a dagger was embedded in the wall to the hilt.

Crassius removed the weapon from the wall with a harsh tug, plaster raining down in a fine dust.

"Mine," Vulpes said. His voice was unsurprisingly hoarse.

The guard handed the dagger to Vulpes, who tucked it under his pillow.

"Do you always sleep naked?" Marcus asked.

Not even the off-handed, silly question could get Vulpes out of his stupor, who simply responded with a quick 'feels good'.

Frustrated, the Butcher walked up to him and gave him a light slap across the face. Vulpes recoiled in shock and blinked a few times before he appeared to look normal once more.

"You woke me up," Lanius growled.

A quick apology flew out of Vulpes mouth, but he was preoccupied with studying the flesh on display before him. Vulpes was boyish in build, with the muscle definition of a man. A perfect amount of black hair descended from his navel downward under the sheets, while the tiny, pink nipples further up had next to none. He definitely looked better than Lanius remembered, and the Butcher found himself wanting to turn him over to see if the back looked as good as the front, and perhaps, remove the sheet that hid what he was most curious about.

"Did you have an intruder?" he asked, not missing a beat between the apology and his subsequent staring.

"No, Caesar," Vulpes frowned, "it was a dream."

Such a violent dream was an ominous sign. The Hidebarks had a seer once, a woman who dreamed and advised his tribe. She foresaw the conquering of their people, and her visions had been ignored. Though men were usually never seers, one could occasionally have a vision of importance, and in the Hidebarks, it was important to listen carefully to one's dreams.

"What kind of dream?" he asked, watching as the man in front of him shuddered.

"Something that happened to me as a child," Vulpes replied, "something I'd care not to remember nor discuss."

Lanius nodded slowly in confusion. Vulpes was adamant about not sharing and he wondered why. The more people knew the dream, the easier they could decipher its meaning. Perhaps he was worried about showing weakness to him, an admirable trait, yet one that could bring forth multiple issues.

"Dreams are Mars' way of telling us something," the Butcher said, "when you dream, you are to listen carefully to the message in the dream. Remember this."

Vulpes nodded slowly, looking nauseous.

Lanius begrudgingly admitted that he would have to mentor Vulpes, just as his instructor did during his training. The dream must have been a stern message indeed.


	40. Chapter 40

A/n: Anyone here from Flagstaff? Because I stalked the shit out of your city online XD

Warning: This chapter is not safe for work.

* * *

><p>He made his home in the library of Northern Arizona University, sneaking around in the dimly lit emergency lighting. It was comfortable there, free of vermin and intrusion from wandering legionaries. In the mornings, he would train in the ways of the sword, keeping his body and reflexes sharp for battle. The rest of the day was his to escape to the library. Vulpes had gathered a cluster of old-world lights of various types about a single table in order to provide proper lighting by which he could read.<p>

The table practically overflowed with books, all on various things he found interesting. Some were about Rome, others about World War II era politics and tactics, and others about anatomy and psychology. He read a smattering of everything forbidden, his head giddily swimming with the truth.

Vulpes flipped open his latest reading on Rome and glanced about him at the shelves lined with hundreds of old, preserved books. Flagstaff hadn't even been a target for the bombs, and the city remained intact. And this library was all his; nobody else would bother to read the books within.

Apparently, Rome had been much more than just a military power. They were artists, scholars, musicians, and landowners. They drank wine and used medication, going so far as to allegedly make a species of fennel go extinct because of its high demand as birth control. And they were on the cutting edge of technology for their era. In effect, they were something much different from what Caesar told him. Had he known the truth before, he would have urged his Lord to pursue everything that made Rome great, rather than just a small portion of the bigger picture.

Sighing, Vulpes put the book to the side. He couldn't stomach more of Rome, not after learning so much. With a shrug, he tackled his next bit of amusement, a pile of film reels he found hidden in a locked cabinet of an office. They had to be something important to be locked away, and his curiosity wouldn't let them go. It could be an interesting cultural experience.

He grabbed a roll entitled 'The Interview' and rolled his chair over to a projection screen capable of playing it. After a second of reading the data, the screen lit up to a title screen then faded to a view of a young woman sitting in a chair across from the camera.

There was a man behind the camera, asking her name as well as her background, education and the like. He then asked what hobbies she liked, to which she responded, "Sucking dick."

Vulpes let out a flat "what?" as the incredibly inappropriate answer threw him off.

The film then took a turn to the bizarre as the man behind the camera reached out to fondle the woman's breasts through her shirt. In the next minute, she was stripping all of her clothes off to reveal a voluptuous body that she began to rub with oil that the cameraman provided.

This most certainly was not an interview. It was bizarre, but he had seen much more lewd things at Gomorrah.

He watched the woman torture the man by slowly fondling him through his pants, and then tease him with her mouth. They began to perform various sex acts, of which he began to make a mental checklist. The way she tossed her hair, the way she moaned as if having an orgasm every few seconds, and the way they bent at strange angles so the penetration could be viewed all served to make him sneer. The whole thing was fake; neither truly enjoyed what they were doing.

But she did have a nice set of breasts, and a lovely, large ass that the man grabbed large handfuls of. Vulpes' mouth went dry as he figured that this was probably similar to what Six looked like naked. His hand drifted down to his lap and was surprised to find that he was incredibly hard. It was then that he knew exactly what this film was for, and why it had been locked away in storage.

The door to the library opened and Vulpes quickly moved his hand away before the Butcher entered the room. For a moment, Lanius stared at the screen, unmoving as he attempted to process what he was watching. To his left, Ossian stared as well, a frown spread across his features.

"I found it hidden in a locked drawer," Vulpes remarked, "didn't know what was on it so I decided to have a look."

"One hell of a look," the Butcher grumbled.

"It started out normal," Vulpes replied, "and then, this." He gestured toward the entirety of the screen, which was filled with a close-up view of the woman's jiggling ass.

Lanius grunted and ordered him to turn it off. Vulpes quickly did so, and the room was once again plunged into darkness.

"What have you been doing here?" the new Caesar asked.

With a grin, Vulpes skirted the around entirety of the truth.

"Reading; learning more Latin," he nodded.

He pointed to the pile of books on the table, and the Butcher picked one up and scanned a page with his eyes.

"It looks the same," he grumbled.

Vulpes frowned and dared to draw closer to the man who thought he was a coward. Lanius had picked up a book on psychology, and it contained not a sentence of Latin.

"That's in English," he said.

"Can't tell," Lanius grunted.

Vulpes blinked, staring up at him.

"Can you not read?" he asked.

The Butcher seemed to squirm under his gaze, confirming his suspicions. He wondered how in the hell such a thing slipped past Caesar's notice. But Vulpes remembered Caesar sending messengers to Lanius, telling them to tell him each message, or read what was written out loud. He couldn't help but feel a great surge of disappointment in Caesar. Not only had he perpetuated lies about Mars and the Romans, but he intentionally kept his second in command from knowing too much by keeping him illiterate.

"I am not an ignorant tribal," Lanius responded.

Vulpes held his hands up in a placating gesture.

"I would never accuse my Lord of such," he replied.

Staring up at the Butcher, Vulpes made up his mind. This ended here; he found his purpose.

* * *

><p>"I shall teach you how to read," the Fox insisted.<p>

He didn't know what to make of the offer, but if Vulpes was that determined, then Lanius could offer a concession. At least it would give Vulpes something to do; he wouldn't have to play around with different ideas of jobs. In the process, he could maybe learn something useful.

Lanius didn't believe in learning about the old world empires that caused the Great War. They desired to learn new technological improvements in order to outdo the other. This desire led to avarice, and ultimately, the destruction of the world.

They were also permissive cultures, allowing chems, alcohol and unimaginable sex acts, much like the strange film Vulpes had been watching. Learning of these people, learning their language, and reading their books was sure to be a useless endeavor. Still, reading would help him with correspondence as Caesar.

He looked down at Vulpes, and found himself on the receiving end of the infamous face that the Fox used in order to get his way. Lanius would give in, not because Vulpes' stare won him over, but rather, because it was important to gain the knowledge of reading.

"Tomorrow," he grumbled.

The grin on Vulpes' face almost made him reconsider, but he thought better of it. Changing one's mind was a form of weakness.

He eyed the praetorian next to him and frowned. Speaking of weakness, it would be bad to let the praetorians watch him attempt to fumble through learning words. Ossian already knew too much, and Lanius would make this a private affair.

* * *

><p>Everything had gone from bad to worse as Boone shot scores of tribals that crossed into his scope. His caravan had been attacked by the savages, and Boone fought them off with his sniper rifle. He shot down the last tribal in his scope and frowned as he looked around. He was the only one alive, after over a month of traveling together.<p>

Boone looked at the corpses of the people he had been traveling with for the past few weeks and shook his head. It didn't seem right, them dying and him staying alive. They were good folks, even the weasely, jet-addicted Ricky.

He supposed he had better continue traveling, or he would run out of scotch soon. He had enough to have a buzz for the better part of the day, even after searching through the rest of the caravan.

A voice across the canyon drew him out of his thoughts. Boone quickly hid behind a rock, readying his rifle.

"It's not often that someone survives a White Legs attack," the man said, "don't worry; I won't hurt you. You came from outside, didn't you? From the civilized lands? Joshua will want to hear about this."

Reluctantly, Boone came out of his hiding place to see a tribal standing on the other side of a rickety canyon bridge. The man ushered him over with a wave and a friendly smile, and Boone figured that he had found some form of help.

"My name is Follows-Chalk," the tribal said, "I will take you to Joshua. He will be able to help."

"Who's Joshua?" Boone asked.

"Joshua Graham," he replied, "He leads our tribe and has made the Dead Horses strong and safe from our enemies. He will want to talk to anyone who comes up south-ways, and that means just you. Follow me; I will lead you to him."

Boone wondered if this was the same Joshua Graham that Jed spoke of, the same man who used to lead the Legion's armies. If it were, he would have nothing to say to the man, other than a curse and a bullet to the skull.

He followed the excited tribal up and down canyon paths. Follows-Chalk chatted the whole way, pointing out different kinds of tribal markings, hiding places, and herbs. It drove Boone to drink more; he didn't want to chat anyone up.

"You like the fire-water, neh?" the tribal asked.

Boone simply grunted and followed toward the river. Soon, they came across a shattered roadway, with the heads of the tribals that attacked the caravan on pikes lining the road. Each head was painted in the same way, signifying a cultural identity.

"Some say that their souls are trapped in there," Follows nodded, "but Joshua says that it shows how serious we are about fighting the White Legs."

If this was Joshua's idea, then he was certainly the former Legate of the Legion. Boone had seen this kind of barbarism near many areas that the Legion had been through. All that was missing from the roadside were the crosses.

His guide pointed to a nearby building.

"See those handprints?" Follows-Chalk said, "Dead Horses and Sorrows mark places from Back-When. They are considered taboo. Good thing for you I don't buy into that stuff."

Boone approached the tiny building and stepped inside, searching or anything that could be of use. There wasn't much more than an old ranger hat, and a first-aid kit that contained a stimpack and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Boone wondered for a second if he could drink it before he threw it and the stim into his bag.

Follows-Chalk waggled his arm to motion Boone down toward the river.

"Just north of here," he said, "hope you don't mind getting wet."

Boone shrugged; he had had worse.

The pair waded into the water, and the tribal motioned toward some paintings on the side of the canyon. He said that they represented the Dead Horses' victories, and that they had had many since Joshua came to them. Begrudgingly, Boone could admit that having an ex-Legionary on one's side could be a very good thing if one was fighting.

They followed the winding river until they reached a small clearing on the riverbed. Follows-Chalk pointed toward a cave against the canyon wall, just beyond a group of tribals huddled around a campfire.

"Joshua is in the Angel Cave," he said, "I will wait for you."

Reluctantly, Boone crossed the camp and entered the cave, ignoring the stares of the tribals. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the torchlight inside the cave. As a wide-eyed tribal woman approached him, Boone realized how different he must look to everyone.

"Hoi," she called, "Owslandr zookuh Joshua Graham?"

"Lady, I don't understand you," Boone groused.

"Owslandr utman zookuh Joshua Graham?" she repeated, "You look for Joshua Graham?" The second half was in a slow, thick accent, but he was able to decipher what she said.

"Yeah," he replied.

"He in high place of cave," the woman replied, "You show respect, owslandr! You no show respect, he show you thunder and fire."

"Okay," Boone grunted.

He trudged up the cave's path, frowning as liquid from the ceiling dripped onto his face. They had to have some scotch or something here, or he would be out as soon as he could leave. Rounding a corner, he saw a bandaged man sitting at a table, inspecting and loading pistols.

"We should have given you a better welcome when you first entered Zion," the man said, "but it sounds like the White Legs beat us to it. White Legs seem to be the only visitors we see these days, and I wouldn't have expected anyone from the Mojave, or even California to come looking for us."

Boone fought the feeling of unease as he realized that he had been noticed when he barely made a sound. Though he had been lit on fire and thrown into a canyon, this 'Burned Man' was sharp, and Boone knew that he wouldn't be able to get a shot off before him, especially not with the pile of pistols on the table.

"I don't know if you were close to the other members of your group," Joshua said, "but you have my sympathy. I pray for the safety of all good people who come to Zion, but we can't expect God to do all the work."

He wanted to make some sort of smart-assed comment about not being a good person, but it died on his tongue. Graham seemed genuine, and certainly didn't care that he wore an NCR First Recon beret.

"What is your name?" Joshua asked.

"Craig Boone," he replied, entering the cave. The pistols on the table drew his eye. They were very well maintained .45s, and though he wasn't a pistol guy, he could definitely appreciate them.

"How do you know what happened?" Boone asked. He shifted his weight, suddenly tired of being on his feet.

"The Dead Horses are capable scouts," he replied, "nothing comes in or out of Zion without my knowing it."

"Speaking of getting out," Boone said, "I'd like to do that."

"Even though you made your way in," Joshua replied, "there's no easy back. Even with a map, you would die in the wilderness. Daniel, one of our missionaries, can help you, but you've caught us at an inconvenient time. We're under continual threat from the White Legs."

He shrugged and sighed.

"I suppose I can help," he remarked, "if the price is right."

Joshua laughed; it was an unsettling, strained sound, as if he rarely did it.

"What's your price?" he asked.

"Got any scotch?" Boone asked. He figured he had better go for it, since he was almost out.

Joshua paused with his hand on the slide of one of his pistols then nodded.

"Daniel and I need some pre-war tools to help us navigate beyond Zion," he said, "should we need to evacuate. Pre-war buildings are taboo to the tribes, so they won't go inside. I wager that you can find some in those buildings."

"Fair enough," Boone conceded, "I'll see what I can do."

"Excellent," Joshua replied, "Follows-Chalk can help you find your way around the canyon. He's inexperienced, but he knows enough of our language to ignore taboos about Pre-war buildings."

He nodded mutely and made his way back down and out of the cave. As soon as the sunlight hit him, Boone realized that he agreed to help a former Legion general. Even though the guy seemed genuine now, he couldn't be sure.

* * *

><p>Six walked with Benny around the old Sharecropper farms, smiling at the work everyone had done in the past two months. Small stalks of corn struggled to grow in rows where the old farm used to lay, but outside of it, they flourished. She wondered what the issue was and could only figure that the fire might have caused the ground to go bad around where it had been scorched.<p>

"What you've got going on is the tops, baby," Benny smiled, motioning toward the farmland.

Six nodded in agreement.

"I'm proud of New Vegas," she said, "so proud."

"Me too," he said, "Couldn't have asked for a better outcome, besides doing it myself."

She rolled her eyes and slapped him on the arm, making the Chairman chuckle. Behind them, Raul walked and stared out at the farms.

"You don't have to be so quiet, Raul," Six called.

The ghoul snapped out of his thoughts and gave her a dry smile.

"Didn't want to intrude on you two," he replied.

Benny laughed and gave Six a quick pat on the back.

"This gal likes em crazy," he chuckled, "and I'm not half crazy enough for her taste."

This earned him another playful slap, and Six chuckled to herself. She wasn't into anyone right now, and didn't feel like she would have the chance to date or have a relationship, not when she was practically the president of New Vegas. It didn't bother her much; she didn't base her self-worth on the love of a man.

"Do you know anything about plants?" she asked, nodding in Raul's direction.

"Nope," he replied, "strictly a mechanic here."

They were brought out of their conversation by one of the farm hands running up to them.

"Miss Six," he called, "we've got a problem."

Frowning, Six jogged after him. In between panting, the man explained the situation.

"A ghoul in a tux wandered out of the desert," he said, "can't stop talking about the Legion. We can't get anything out of him, but the guys are giving him some water."

They rounded the corner of an out building to come across a large cluster of people. Six shooed them out of the way, telling them to get back to work and give the ghoul some space.

He stared up at her through smudged, dusty sunglasses, his mouth agape.

"Legion are coming," he rasped.

Six frowned and let him have a sip of water before questioning him.

"Where?" she asked, "where are they coming from?"

"Over the dam," he replied, "nobody will escape."

One of the workers came forward with his lunch and offered it to the ghoul. It was devoured in less than a minute.

"How long have you been out in the desert?" Six asked.

"Don't know," he replied, "months is likely."

She waited for a minute while his body processed the lunch and hoped that it would help him become more coherent. When the ghoul exhaled and hunched over, she took that as the cue that he would be able to hold a conversation.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Dean Domino," he ghoul smiled, "showman and entertainer for the ages." He gave a mock bow and a quick flourish of the hand.

Behind her, Raul chuckled. He must have known who this man was.

"Dean Domino, eh?" Benny interjected, "Your songs are still hits, man."

Six sighed as Benny started trying to chat Dean up about his work; completely ignoring the fact that less than a few minutes ago, the ghoul had been talking about the Legion. She cleared her throat in the hopes that it would get Benny's attention.

"So," she continued, "how do you know that the Legion is coming?"

Dean sucked in a breath and exhaled heavily. He took another drink of water, shaking his head.

"While at the Sierra Madre," he began, "I encountered a most terrifying and cunning young man. He called himself Erwin, but whether that was his real name was another thing entirely. It was eventually revealed that he was Legion, and that was when he turned into a terror. Upon entering the casino, he turned on me, and naturally, I shot him. Not a bullet to the arm could stop him."

"What did he look like?" Benny asked, putting his hands in his coat pocket.

"Erwin?" Dean chuckled, "normal appearance, in every sense of the word. Tall, thin, athletic, handsome. Short, dark hair and blue eyes. Had a rather unique voice, higher pitched, but spellbinding nonetheless. If a serpent had a voice, it would sound like Erwin."

Benny gave a quick nod as he tried to piece the clues together.

"I got nothing," the chairman shrugged, "then again, I don't associate with Legion."

"He told me to come here," Dean continued, "to spread the word that the Legion was coming to raid, pillage, and those sorts of things. I figured it'd keep me out of trouble if they did indeed come."

"That's old information," the Courier said, "the Legion was turned back. I spoke with the Butcher himself."

The relief that spread across Dean's face was palpable, and Six wondered what to do with him. He was a refugee, used to high-class treatment, and had no skills that the workers could make use of.

"How's about you come to the Tops," Benny smiled, "we've got a stage that you'd look wonderful on, as well as a high roller suite that would be a great apartment for a man of your caliber."

Dean chuckled, a smile breaking out on his cracked face.

"Sounds like a deal," he nodded, standing and motioning for them to lead on.

Six swallowed thickly as she led the group toward the Strip. She had a good idea of whom Dean was talking about. How Vulpes ended up at the Sierra Madre casino, she could only guess. But that meant that Vulpes was safe, and the thought made her unexpectedly happy.


	41. Chapter 41

He was sick of walking through the river. His pants and socks ended up rubbing painfully inside his boots, and Boone knew that he would have a nasty bunch of blisters on his feet that night. He wondered how Joshua walked through all of that water, soaking his bandages and the like. Maybe the water felt good on his burned skin; maybe, he didn't have any sensation at all. Boone wasn't sure, and wasn't about to ask. Each man had his own burden, his own dark secret that he would rather not discuss. Joshua's time in the Legion, the things he did and his execution, all of these were things Boone was sure were taboo to bring up. It was like his own secret with Bitter Springs.

Because of this, he could possibly look past the man's history. Fate would have it out for Joshua Graham too, just as it was out for Boone. He wondered why Joshua would follow a god that he felt was in charge of his punishments. Perhaps, he felt like he deserved punishment, just as Boone did. God help him, they were too much alike, and not all the scotch in the world would erase that thought from his mind. But damn if he wouldn't try.

"I hear that outside, people live in a giant thunder-lizard," Follows-Chalk said.

Boone sighed as he waded out of the river onto a pathway that led up and around a hill.

"Nobody lives in it," he replied, "We use it as a sniper nest. The bottom half is a store."

He knew he shouldn't have corrected the tribal, whose eyes widened in excitement.

"You're from there?" Follows asked.

He was reminded of the young guys that volunteered with the NCR. They were all smiles, all excitement, and all ready to do something stupid to get themselves killed on a mission. He would have to watch him, make sure he didn't do anything dangerous.

They rounded a corner to come across a pack of mole rats. Follows-Chalk drew a pistol at his side and helped Boone take them out quickly. Perhaps, the kid knew his way around a bit; he would have to, being a tribal. But if he ever wandered into the Mojave, he would be a liability for sure. The same would go with any old-world buildings, and Boone would have to make sure he didn't touch anything dangerous.

Boone sighed as their path led them across the river once again. He stomped his way into the stream, not caring that he splashed water all over himself. Across the stream was a small, wooden building. Out front, it was marked as a general store.

"Here's one stop," Follows-Chalk nodded, "we need lunchboxes from here."

He walked up the steps, the old boards creaking loudly under his weight. Boone was surprised that the building lasted so long in a state of disrepair, but he supposed such a place was very far away from where the bombs fell.

"Don't step on any nails," Boone groused, motioning toward Follows-Chalk's bare feet.

The tribal allowed him to open the door and waited for Boone to enter first, as if the place unnerved him. Boone didn't wait for his eyes to adjust to the light as he searched for lunchboxes and stuffed them unceremoniously in his bag.

"For as long as I remember," Follows murmured, "the Dead Horses have called old world places taboo. Doesn't look so spooky to me."

Boone shrugged and made his way into the general store's office. He heard Follows-Chalk shuffling around in the store, examining the items on the shelves.

"We're done here," Boone announced, emerging from the back room to see the tribal playing with the old cash register.

Follows-Chalk seemed disappointed to leave, but made no protest as he followed Boone out into the canyon.

"Next place is the ranger station," the tribal nodded. He motioned toward a smaller building on the crest of a nearby hill.

It was a short trip up a dusty path before Boone climbed another set of creaky stairs and opened the torn swing-door on the ranger station. There were scorpions inside, a sign that the building hadn't been touched for a long time. Quickly, they dispatched them, and Follows-Chalk set about the task of removing the poison glands from their tails.

Boone trudged toward the station's office to look for anything of use. There was a broom and a mop in the corner, and a row of bunks that brought back bittersweet memories of a time when he had been happy.

"We need a medical kit," Follows-Chalk called.

Boone shook his head, glanced around the room, and saw a doctor's bag on a nearby table. There were bits missing to it, but he figured that someone would know what to do with it. He bundled it up and left the room in search for something to drink.

The fridge was the logical choice, and Boone wasn't disappointed. Inside laid large bottles of scotch, vodka, and whiskey. He grabbed all three, knowing that beggars couldn't be choosers. Each step that took him away from civilization, the booze became scarcer. Hopefully there would be more in New Canaan.

"That it?" he asked, looking pointedly at the tribal behind him.

Follows-Chalk nodded and began to lead him back toward camp, talking about what he had heard of the Mojave. It was going to be a long walk.

* * *

><p>The Butcher was a quick learner, as he had expected. For days, Vulpes did nothing other than help teach him how to read. No guards came with, and though Lanius never gave voice to it, Vulpes could tell that he was embarrassed. Because of this, Vulpes made sure to be as respectful as possible.<p>

Lanius shifted next to him and frowned as he tried to concentrate on a word. Vulpes glanced toward the book, instantly knowing which word it was based on the words he had trouble with before. He waited for Lanius to ask him, knowing that he couldn't give all of the answers, because the man would never learn that way. Dirt pride kept Lanius from asking which word it was, and Vulpes watched as recognition slowly dawned on the older man's face.

Lanius stopped reading for a moment and stared at him. His eyes flickered from his eyes to his lips, then to his body. Vulpes fought the urge to cover up, knowing that doing so would cause even more problems. Instead, he flashed the Butcher his best smile and hoped that it would cast its spell on him like it had on Victoria Gunderson.

"I'm going to take a breather," he announced, "been sitting too long."

Lanius gave him a slow, mystified nod and watched intently as he stood.

"Want me to come with you?" he asked, sitting up as if he was going to follow.

"Oh, that's okay," Vulpes smiled, "you don't have to bother yourself."

He gave him a quick touch on the arm and instantly regretted it as the other man's gaze tore to the spot where his hand made contact. Vulpes quickly excused himself before things became more awkward.

The attraction wasn't lost on him, and he knew that the only thing that kept him safe was the law. Lanius was devoted to Mars, first and foremost. But he felt the other man's eyes on him as he walked away, and Vulpes exhaled shakily as he finally left the Butcher's field of vision.

He wandered into an area of the Library he didn't bother with, the section devoted to childhood education. Vulpes looked around at the bright, centuries old decorations in disinterest and leaned against the wall in the far corner. His armor made a strange noise as it made a soft impact with the wall, and he turned around to investigate.

A large sheet of green paper was pinned to the wall with various children's art tacked up on it. Curious, Vulpes rapped on the wall with his knuckles to discover a hollow sound. He continued to tap while moving to the side. The sound abruptly stopped, and he could only conclude that there was a void in the wall.

Vulpes walked down to the end of the paper on the wall and tore it off as he walked back to where the hollow sound came from, a large mass of paper quickly falling to the floor. There, the wall was subtly different, a thin set of seams running down from the ceiling in precise vertical lines. Something was behind the wall, and he had to find how to open it.

The access point had to be easily reachable, so he began his search by feeling along the rubberized baseboards. In one area, it was wrinkled, much as it was in other areas of the building. He stuck his hand in the gap, felt a lever, and toggled it to release the false panel against the wall.

The door swung upward, revealing a small, dark room. Vulpes spotted a light on a table in the center of the room, complete with its own power supply. He turned it on and the room lit up brightly.

Rows upon rows of books lined shelves, and Vulpes tilted his head to the side at the sight. Why would they need to hide books within a library?

The answer came quickly as he examined the types of books that had been hidden. Each was about Chinese culture or history, Communism, Socialism, and other things that would have been taboo subjects of discussion during the panicked pre-war era. These were all likely banned, and set to be burned in order to control the opinions of the people at the time.

He wandered among the small collection, examining the strange characters that made up the Chinese language. This collection had immense value, even in a world where not many cared to read. There was one book, in particular, though, that Vulpes wished would be among those on the shelves.

As soon as he thought it, the book appeared on the shelf, as if summoned. Sun Tzu's Art of War was in front of him, bound in a hard, red cover and inlaid with gold foil. Vulpes removed it, took it to the table, and began to read. Minutes passed, and it took a concentrated effort to pull himself away.

As much as he enjoyed the book, Lanius would be wondering where he was, and Vulpes had to have something to show for his disappearance. He supposed he could part with it; there was another, much plainer copy on the shelf next to the vacant spot that it had occupied.

Exhaling, Vulpes shut off the light on the table and closed the secret panel behind him. He made his way back through the library to the entrance where the Butcher waited.

Lanius looked up immediately at his arrival, and Vulpes handed the book to him.

"The general who advances without coveting fame and retreats without fearing disgrace," he said, "who's only thought is to protect his country and do good service for his sovereign, is the jewel of the kingdom."

The Butcher turned his head to the side, as if confused by the compliment.

"This book," Vulpes continued, "was written by an ancient Chinese general. I found it in a secret room where it'd been hidden from being destroyed."

Lanius brushed aside the book about Rome that he had been reading and opened his new gift. Vulpes couldn't blame him; learning about Rome must have been jarring, to say the least.

The question that the Butcher asked, however, was something he hadn't fully prepared himself for:

"What do you make of Rome?"

* * *

><p>One thing that struck Lanius about Vulpes was that he smelled good; really, really, good. This observation was brought on by his proximity to the other man as he sat and learned how to read. The next thing he discovered was that Vulpes was sitting closer than necessary for the task, close enough to radiate heat toward him and distract him from what he was doing. They bumped legs and arms often, a cloud of heat and his natural smell drifting toward him each time.<p>

Finally, he discovered that Vulpes was a very physical person. He wove grand gestures with his hands while he spoke, peppering in a frustrating touch here and there. It made Lanius wonder if the Fox was attempting to seduce him.

Then Vulpes smiled, and Lanius felt himself become completely disarmed. He asked a fumbling question in reply, and a quick touch to the arm soon followed. The Butcher who had slain thousands with his sword found his mouth going dry.

He had watched as the other man walked away and felt the old, unnatural urge return with a vengeance. Lanius squashed it quickly as Vulpes disappeared from his line of sight. He spent a few minutes attempting to reconcile Rome in his mind, but it was difficult. There were so many questions, so many things he needed to understand, but Caesar was no more.

Then Vulpes brought a book before him, lavished him with praise, and told him the book's origin. The gift was surprising, thoughtful, and incredibly confusing. Vulpes' words were strangely comforting; though they disagreed on many things, it was good to know that they had solidarity when it came to his decision to leave Hoover Dam.

So, Lanius would be candid with him, and ask a difficult question that rolled around in his head for days as he learned how to read.

"What do you make of Rome?" he asked.

Vulpes closed his eyes and exhaled, as if the question stressed him. But it was important that they converse over the matter; he begrudgingly admitted that the Fox would know if they should tell the other higher-ranked officers, and would have the finesse to do so.

"What does Caesar make of Rome?" Vulpes retorted.

Lanius had given him reason to be mistrustful before, and puzzled the evasive question over in his head.

"He's dead," he replied.

Vulpes' face twitched as he quickly shut off a knee-jerk response. Briefly, Lanius wondered what he truly wanted to say, but knew that he probably wouldn't have liked the answer.

"You are Caesar," Vulpes nodded.

He spoke in riddles, and Lanius fought the urge to backhand him as if he was a mouthy child. Instead, he attempted to solve the puzzle Vulpes presented to him.

It didn't matter that there was another man who ruled before him, though that man had been the son of Mars. Caesar was dead; Caesar could not speak with them over these matters. But the voice of Mars passed on to Lanius. He was the one with the answers, not Vulpes, and it was no wonder why Vulpes answered in a riddle. The Fox wouldn't speak for Mars, nor would he speak for Caesar. Perhaps it was self-preservation; perhaps, it was meant out of respect.

"What does Caesar make of Rome?" Vulpes repeated, his voice gentle.

Lanius was captured by the blue gaze of the Fox and for a moment, he struggled to process what had been said. Shaking his head, the Butcher thought seriously about the issue. He was Caesar, and he knew of the truth of Mars, and the Legion's mission as a society.

"The Romans started in fire," he began, "but lost their way into dissolution and were destroyed. Mars waited for over two millennia to have Caesar be born, and Rome began again in fire, as it should. It is our duty to carry on the will of Mars, as well as live according to the laws of Mars."

Vulpes nodded slowly, accepting his answer.

"So it shall be," he said.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, asking and answering his own question had been helpful. He still didn't like Vulpes, not as a tactician, not as a war-maker.

Lanius wasn't the kind to sort out his feelings, but he realized that he just did. He supposed it was just as well; he felt better about his role as the bringer of Mars' message to the Legion.

Strangely enough, he had Vulpes to thank for it.

* * *

><p>A drop of Vodka slid its way down the interior of the bottle, leaving a tiny, wet trail on the glass. It got hung up around where the neck met the body of the bottle, but Boone knew better than to shake it. If he did, the drop would shatter itself into tiny pieces, and he would never have it. Finally, it loosed itself, slid down to the rim of the bottle, and into Boone's mouth. Such a small drop felt and tasted like water on his tongue.<p>

Scotch, whiskey, and then vodka had been his order, and it hadn't lasted him more than a few days. He wasn't quite sure how long it had been, but those bottles had been huge, and they were gone pretty quickly. Getting the shakes wasn't an option; Boone needed more before he attempted to drink that bottle of rubbing alcohol in the bag.

He put himself at the far end of the Dead Horse camp, as far away from Joshua Graham as he could. Boone couldn't trust the guy, not with his background. It was necessity that drove him to seek the spiritual man out, nothing more.

Boone made his way through the water and to Angel Cave. The tribe must have heard that he was helping them; they looked at him curiously, some nodding toward him and smiling.

"Hello," a woman greeted, "our meeting first was no goot. It is not personal; we not trust owslanders. They say you help us."

She nodded and smiled sheepishly, waiting for a reply.

"Don't remember you," he grunted.

The woman looked hurt for a moment, but said nothing else. He honestly didn't remember her, didn't remember the past few days very well. Shaking his head, Boone entered the cave and walked up the pathway that led to where Joshua had been before. He wondered if he could get the jump on the former Legionary and walked as quietly as he could toward the cave's upper room.

As soon as he saw Joshua, he was seen as well. The Burned Man perked up at his entrance and stopped for a moment to give him a quick wave.

"If it isn't our visitor from California," he greeted, "I figured you'd be around soon."

"Mojave," Boone grunted.

Joshua paused in inspecting his pile of pistols and nodded slowly.

"Where in the Mojave, may I ask?" he said. There was no indication that he was fishing for information, just making small talk and possibly getting to know his visitor. But Boone wasn't one for small talk.

"Novac," he replied.

Joshua seemed to take the hint, and it was relieving. He didn't say anything more, and instead, waited for Boone to say why he was there.

"Got anything else you need me to get?" Boone asked.

"I was wondering when you'd ask, Craig," he replied, "We need people with initiative here that are willing to go to taboo places."

Boone found himself standing still, as if waiting for orders. He was always doing as he was told, never questioning, never asking if what he was doing was right or wrong. But this time, if he was asked to kill someone who shouldn't die, he would decline.

"Follows-Chalk will know where to go," the Burned Man continued, "there should be some walkie-talkies in the old fishing lodge. I'm sure I don't have to tell you how important they'd be to us."

He nodded quickly in agreement. Communications technology would be incredibly important, especially if the tribes ended up leaving Zion. With that in mind, he would get Follows-Chalk and would get going toward the fishing lodge.

Boone left the cave, hoping he could find some scotch to steady his aim. He didn't think of anything but that slow, thick burn, and didn't know what he would do when he ran out of odd jobs and places to go.


	42. Chapter 42

A/n: Some of you might recognize parts of this chapter from the FO Kink meme from a few months back. That's because I wrote it... this version has been corrected though.

**WARNING**: This chapter contains detailed descriptions of two men having anal sex, with dubious consent given. If such things are offensive or gross to you, then please do not read the third section of this chapter. I cannot stress this enough.

* * *

><p>The fishing lodge was just another creature-infested wooden building on stilts. Boone didn't bother to look for the walkie-talkies until he gulped down a beer that had been sitting on the coffee table of the reception area. There were two others nearby as well, and he stuffed them in his bag. He turned around to see another pair of beers next to a chair. Boone popped the top on one and swallowed it as quickly as possible, putting the other one in the bag.<p>

He chuckled as he looked at the bar in the far corner of the room. It would have easy pickings, hopefully. Boone approached the counter and walked around back. He grabbed the bottles of whiskey and vodka off the shelf and attempted to open the cabinet where the good stuff would be.

It was locked.

Growling, Boone took the butt of his rifle and smashed the glass. Behind him, Follows-Chalk cringed, but he didn't care. It wasn't as if anyone would need or use the cabinet ever again, especially with buildings like these being off limits to the tribes.

He grabbed the vodka and wine within, and barely noticed the walkie-talkies on the shelf. Shrugging, he stuffed it all in his bag, and then turned around to examine the rest of the lodge. Another three beers rounded out his collection, and Boone knew he would have enough to get by for a little while.

But why stop there? He could do the other task, and get even more. Then, he would be set for a very long time, and everything would be great.

"What's the next one?" Boone asked.

Follows-Chalk stopped sulking for a moment to perk up and answer.

"A compass," he replied, "come. I will show you."

So Boone followed him around the canyon and through the water. They came across a crashed bus, and he wondered if there would be anything worth it among the wreck. A trail of toys floated in the water near the bus, and his heart immediately stopped.

Everything in him told him not to go near that bus, but Boone disobeyed from the idea that he deserved this. He walked to the split in the metal and stared at the skeletons of so many tiny children.

"We call them the little ones," Follows-Chalk murmured, "tiny scouts."

Boone continued to stare and grimly noticed that the tiniest skeleton held the compass. He would have to take it from its hands.

He stepped forward in the water, stared the skull in its empty eye sockets, and removed the compass from a set of tiny, brittle hands. Without a doubt, the kids from Bitter Springs looked the same way by now, only their skulls were shattered from the rounds of snipers.

"Craig?" Follows-Chalk called, "Craig, it's okay."

Boone shook his head and followed the tribal. Not all the scotch in the world could erase the thoughts from his head, but he would damn well try.

* * *

><p>There were people talking outside the door and Caesar Lanius stirred from his sleep. Unmoving, he listened to the voices of his guards conversing with an unmistakable voice.<p>

It was the Fox. His silky tenor lilted through the night air, caressing the ears of the Bull himself. Lanius still wondered why he hadn't killed the younger man outright. Publicly, he said that it was because the Fox was much weaker and the fight would be dishonorable. Personally, Lanius told himself that it was because Caesar was incredibly fond of Vulpes, and that he did have his uses.

And though it had been about a month or so since the passing of the great Caesar, a twinge of jealousy bubbled under the surface of the Legate's skin. Anything the promiscuous Fox wanted, he received with Caesar's blessing. Money, books, assignments, special weapons, a wardrobe full of disguises; all were given without a second thought thanks to a silver tongue, a set of perpetually sad eyes and his propensity to kiss any and all ass necessary to get what he wanted. Vulpes represented everything dishonest and two-faced in the world; it was everything Lanius stood against.

Vulpes Inculta was the Whore of the Legion, making his bed with the profligates, all in the name of gathering information.

But ultimately, Lanius knew that it was something much more sinister that made him keep the Fox around. It was a demon that dwelt deep in the recesses of his subconscious, waking him up in the middle of the night in a hot sweat. It was the feeling that he got when he eyed the younger man secretly, his line of sight coiling around Vulpes' pretty, pale throat and down the breastplate of his armor. He had been told that it was unnatural. His desires were punishable by death.

The Butcher arose from his bed as soon as he heard Vulpes leave. The hot, dry sheets scratched their way down his bare torso, as if to warn him that the path he took would lead somewhere he didn't want to go.

But he was Caesar, goddammit, and he would do as he pleased.

Lanius opened the door to his bedchamber, not caring that he walked around half-naked. Across the hallway, Marcus and Crassius sent him an odd look.

"I will be back in a while," he rumbled, "do not follow."

He paid them no mind as they snapped a salute. Each step that brought him closer to the quarters of the deceiver made him ache all the more.

And before the Butcher knew it, he was there.

* * *

><p>Vulpes leaned over his desk, his head in his hands. Things weren't supposed to turn out this way; it had been a mantra that he had repeated every day since he headed back to a broken and confused Legion.<p>

He remembered the lock of Six's hair in his glove and clenched his fist around it, attempting to draw strength from her memory. Had she just been patient, he would have been able to persuade her. Maybe her influence would have reformed some of the Legion's policies. Vulpes tried not to think of the life they would have had together, their marriage, the children they would have had.

A shadow loomed over Vulpes and he closed his eyes, waiting for a dagger at his throat. Instead, a heavy weight settled over him, a large set of hands pinning his to the table. Lips brushed across his ear and he shuddered, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

Whoever it was, he was a giant. Vulpes was tall and he felt dwarfed by this man.

Was it Crassius? The thought set him slightly at ease. He was so desperate, so utterly alone and depressed that he would consider giving his consent. Was this how these things started?

"I know what you're going to do," Vulpes murmured, "just don't hurt me. Living would be preferable."

A familiar chuckle sounded in his ear and he froze in terror.

"Oh," Lanius rumbled, "I certainly don't want to kill you that quickly."

Facial hair scratched him while an insistent mouth nibbled and sucked on his neck. He didn't resist as the hands moved to lift his tunic from his thighs. Vulpes bit back a curse as he was forced to bend over, his underwear unceremoniously yanked down to his ankles. Fabric rustled behind him and he knew what would come next. To his surprise, a well-lubricated finger inched its way into his ass, prodding and gently stretching him.

Vulpes shuddered, trying not to acknowledge that the Butcher's touch felt disgustingly familiar. Another finger joined in the intrusion and began to carefully stretch the muscles that spasmed from being displaced.

"So, you've done this before," Vulpes murmured, surprised at the amount of gentleness he was receiving.

A frustrated sigh sounded in his ear.

"Shut up," Lanius replied, "do not ruin it by speaking to me."

Vulpes' stomach turned sour as the fingers disappeared. A grunt escaped his lips as the Butcher penetrated him slowly and he found himself grateful that his muscles decided to be compliant. Hips rested against the flesh of his ass, the large shadow settling itself above him. Though Lanius remained still inside him, he wrapped his arms around Vulpes' torso and harshly pinched his nipples before violently ravishing his neck.

"You're delicious," the Butcher murmured, "like forbidden fruit."

He started to move, and Vulpes let out a grunt. It was easier now than it was when he was younger; he was large enough to comfortably accommodate a grown man. Vulpes couldn't help but gasp and whine like a child as Lanius hit that deliciously pleasant spot inside him. His partner seemed pleased by the noise he made and hit the spot again with a chuckle.

Vulpes was seven again, trying to understand why it felt so good, but without the innocence to disguise his shame. He hoped that the Butcher would finish soon so that he could curl up in bed, his dignity in tatters. Instead, it continued, and his new molester began to taunt him.

"Your courier had the best ass I've ever seen," he groaned, "but this will suffice."

"I bet an actual woman would be better," Vulpes replied.

He feigned boredom and leaned forward to rest his chin in his hands, even though he was terrified. A powerful thrust scooted the desk forward, his elbows scraping against the wood. There was a hand on his head, and Vulpes smirked; he didn't have enough hair to grab. Lanius settled on smacking him across the mouth as if he was a child.

Vulpes craned his head to say something sarcastic, but a pair of hands shot out to collapse his arms. He was flattened against the desk, the breath knocked out of him. As much as he tried, he couldn't ignore the feeling of the spot inside him being massaged with every thrust. A gasping squeak escaped his lips as the Butcher found the perfect angle.

He couldn't help but shudder as hot breath and vile words drifted over his ear. Each breath Vulpes took was punctuated by a whimper. He was filthy, a dirty slut, and he loved and hated every second of it.

Lanius groaned loudly and leaned back as he thrust. Vulpes felt a pair of hands on his ass, squeezing and pushing it up in admiration in the same manner that he had done to hundreds of women. A pair of thumbs kneaded into his lower back, pointing out something else.

"These dimples," the Butcher marveled. He peppered kisses as low as he could reach, slowing in his assault.

There was a quick slap across his ass as Lanius sped up and panted in his ear. The sound of flesh hitting flesh filled the air, and Vulpes knew it was only a matter of time before it was over.

Within seconds, the Butcher stiffened behind him, grunting and thrusting slowly. Each deep push was accompanied by a warm, wet sensation, one that he knew all too well. Vulpes felt his face heat up in shame; he had been used.

Lanius was heavy, and he resisted the urge to squirm to try to get him off. Instead, he waited patiently while the panting man lay on top of him, his weight pushing his hips into the desk painfully.

The Butcher picked his torso up and wrapped his arms around him, trapping Vulpes' arms to his chest. Leaning forward, Lanius' arms cushioned his body on the desk. He swallowed thickly as he realized that he was being cuddled, even though it was a bizarre position.

This wasn't necessary. Lanius had what he wanted, and could just go. Vulpes didn't want him to stick around, didn't want him to act as if this had been anything more than a quick fuck. Instead, the Butcher stood and turned him around to kiss him slowly and thoroughly. Fearing the consequences of not reciprocating, Vulpes returned the kiss fervently. He felt Lanius begin to pull away as his body backed up, his mouth staying on top of his. With a grunt, the kiss was severed and the breathless Butcher wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"It seems you can use that mouth of yours for something other than talk," he chuckled. Lanius leaned in for another quick kiss, readjusted his clothes, and then left as quickly as he came.

Vulpes stared at the closed door for a moment, attempting to comprehend what just happened. He reached out to timidly lock the door, and his shaking hands began to pick up his discarded clothes.

He needed a bath.

* * *

><p>There had been something wrong with Craig ever since they grabbed the compass from the little scouts in the crashed vehicle. Yes, it was tragic that the people inside died so suddenly and so young, but that had been the way that the Great War of fire went. Craig had to have known this; he was from the outside, and had seen many things as a soldier of the NCR.<p>

Craig was as tough as they came. He never spoke much, unless to convey information or ask an important question. Follows-Chalk tried his hardest to speak less around him, but it was difficult when there was someone in front of him who knew of the old places.

He yearned for the adventure of traveling outside of the only place he had ever known. There was a sparkling, bright city in the desert not too far from him, and he wanted to see it. In order to have two armies interested in taking it over, New Vegas had to be something incredible and special. Not even Joshua had seen the city, and such a lack of information only made his desire stronger.

But he couldn't bother Craig with asking about New Vegas, not when the alcohol was disappearing quicker than he had seen before. Alcohol was forbidden for consumption among the Dead Horses and Sorrows. It was said to be bad for health, as well as mood. He could certainly agree with this after having watched Craig down it.

When he wasn't drinking, he had the personality of a cactus; all needles, completely stationary. But when Craig drank, his moods changed violently, and there was no way to predict what he would do or say.

Follows-Chalk always liked to think the best about people, and it often got him in trouble. But even he could tell that Craig didn't like him, or the rest of his tribe. The Legion and the NCR both had reputations for washing tribes away like a flooded river, and Follows-Chalk supposed that Craig's opinion wasn't much different. After all, the man hardly spoke to him, and the scout always caught the eye rolls, the sighs of frustration, and the unnecessarily forceful way he did everything.

But it was too quiet, and he had to say something to hopefully snap the man out of his stupor.

"So, what's going on?" he asked.

Craig just stared at him and shook his head; a single word transmitted loud and clear without the other man even having to open his mouth:

Idiot.

He had the habit of opening his mouth too quickly, and it brought him much trouble. In his tribe, it was the mark of inexperience, something that Follows-Chalk was ashamed of. He wanted to be the best; he wanted to do and see and live his life as an adventure.

But Craig lived his life in adventure, and it had taken him down a dark path. Follows-Chalk wanted to know his story, so he could use that knowledge to avoid the pitfalls that the other man had.

But there would be no way of knowing, not while there was scotch around.

* * *

><p>It had been hours as Arcade and Veronica examined the generator outside the old mining office at Sloan, and Six was getting bored. She kicked at a rock, which bounced off the tin building with a loud clang. Rex perked up at the sound and darted forward to grab the rock and run around in circles with it in his mouth. She giggled, told him he was silly, and took the rock from his mouth.<p>

There was another set of metallic clangs accompanied by a grunt and a curse as the sounds of Arcade tightening a bolt on the old machine drifted toward her.

"That should do it," Arcade announced.

Six looked up to see the grease-covered doctor hand a wrench to his helper. He pulled a lever on the generator, and it sputtered for a moment before starting. The lights outside the mining shack lit up, and the sound of a radio drifted through the old, filmy windows.

"Now," Six sighed, "What do we do with this?"

"If it's ours," Veronica shrugged, "then we can use the concrete to build more buildings."

Cass stood from where she had been sitting on the nearby fence. Shaking her head, she looked Six straight in the eye and frowned.

"Government just makes sure nobody kills each other," she interjected, "And do you expect people to work for free? The happy farm you have down there isn't going to last if you just feed the farmers. Same goes for a mine."

Six frowned, knowing that what Cass said made sense. After all, Cass had been a caravan owner, and knew about business.

"People want more, always. So, we can give them the chance to make themselves better by letting someone buy the farm, and the mine here," she finished.

"But it's our farm," Six frowned, "it belongs to the people."

The caravaner laughed in a quick bark, startling Rex.

"That's well intended," Arcade sighed, "but let's face it; our government owns the farm and lets the people work on it. If they don't feel like they have a say in what happens, then they're just free labor."

With a sigh, the Courier looked toward the city below them. In the midday heat, it was difficult to get a good look, but Vegas stood, as it had for hundreds of years. But she wanted more for the city, more than just a cluster of casinos taking money from tourists and spending it on themselves. She wanted a place where someone down on their luck could find work, a place where people could feel safe when they slept at night. Opportunity was important, and she wondered how she could create the balance necessary to provide it to the people.

Where the old sharecropper farms had been was land that wouldn't grow much food. Outside of that area, plants grew surprisingly well in the desert. With the watchful eye of the farmers, grapes, maize, and soy fought their way to grow in the soil, succeeding where many said they would fail.

Six wanted to do everything she could for the people of New Vegas and the surrounding areas, but realized that if she did too much, then there wouldn't be a need for people laborers. She could farm, create buildings, and all sorts of things with securitrons, but if she didn't have people behind it, then her efforts were for nothing.

"Maybe a group of citizens wants to buy the farm," she said, "they're doing just fine without me, so they deserve to own it."

There was a moment of silence as Cass looked down and scuffed the dirt with her boot.

"I want it," she said.

Six looked up in surprise and nodded.

"You know," she replied, "I have to make it a public sale, or people will say that I'm giving my friends kickbacks."

The caravaner nodded and stared at the dirt again.

"I want this," she murmured, "but I'm prepared to lose."

Six nodded slowly, and headed back toward the city with her friends. Too many people left her. As selfish as it seemed, she wanted Cass to stay.


	43. Chapter 43

A/n: Just a quick note here in regards to the last chapter. I didn't write what I did with Vulpes and Lanius with the intention that it should be sexy, or acceptable. In fanfic, non-con and dub-con are often treated as kinks. It's passed off as acceptable, or even sexy. This is not one of those fics; I want to explore the painful reality of such a situation.

As always, if there is something in the chapter that people may not care to read, I will put a warning in the author's note.

* * *

><p>He had gone after a man eighteen years his junior, and Lanius wondered what he had been thinking. He was forty-two; Vulpes was twenty-four. Lanius wasn't young anymore, and wasn't sure if he could keep up with someone that much younger than him, especially someone with such a voracious sexual appetite.<p>

To top it off, he had committed a grievous sin, worthy of execution. But the way the Fox whined and whimpered the entire time made Lanius desire to go back for seconds, or even more.

He felt ashamed as he hid from Vulpes, not even doing so much as visit the library. It made no sense to hide; after all, Vulpes clearly enjoyed and wanted it. This didn't surprise the Butcher. After all, Vulpes had been given permission to do as he needed when undercover. With his notorious promiscuity, Lanius was positive that Vulpes had all kinds of experience, even with other men.

And Vulpes had been trying to seduce him anyway; the little touches and smiles whittled away his resolve until it culminated in one of the best nights he had in a long time. So Lanius wondered again why he was hiding, and supposed it was ridiculous. He still read the book that Vulpes gave him, enjoying every word. It had been such an intimate gift, and left no doubt that the Fox had gone out of his way to try to gain his attention. It had worked.

Lanius grunted and stood from the throne. Ignoring the guards, he made his way onto the former campus to the old library and opened the door. Vulpes was right where Lanius knew he would be; he sat at the table, reading from a thick book. He was so absorbed in his reading that he didn't know that he was no longer alone, and the Butcher took the opportunity to pounce.

He grabbed the other man, spun him around in his chair, and kissed him senseless. Using Vulpes' gasp of surprise against him, Lanius thrust his tongue into the Fox's mouth. There was no response to his kiss, and the Butcher pulled back quickly. The shocked look on Vulpes' face was priceless.

"Tonight," Lanius proposed, "come to my room instead. Prepare yourself accordingly."

Vulpes nodded slowly and silently, something that made him pause.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

The Fox gathered his wits quickly and shook his head.

"No," he replied, "just surprised. I figured the other night was an experiment."

Lanius wasn't sure what the other night was, beyond the fact that it was incredible.

"This needs to continue," he declared.

Vulpes nodded, swallowed, and began to blush like a virgin. Lanius couldn't help but chuckle; this one was much dirtier than he let on, and he wasn't about to fall for the innocent act.

* * *

><p>At the behest of Running-Water, one of the Dead Horses, Joshua Graham walked to the bottom of Angel Cave. She'd come into his private section, her head bowed low in submission as she hurriedly told him that their guest wasn't responding to anything she tried to say. Joshua told her to speak with her head up, that he wasn't to be feared. Her posture reminded him of the many Legion slaves; he couldn't stand it.<p>

He followed her to where Craig Boone laid, a collection of empty bottles of alcohol scattered around him. Leaning in, Joshua shook the soldier's arm.

"Craig," he called, "Craig, are you alive?"

There was no reply, and the Dead Horse woman looked at him in panic. He placated her and knelt down to examine the visitor further.

"Use your finger," he told her, "put it under his jaw and see if you can feel his heart beat."

Joshua couldn't feel a pulse through the bandages on his hands, couldn't put his ear against the man's chest to attempt to hear a heartbeat, or feel the man's breath against his skin. It was frustrating, having to ask for help for something so simple.

But the woman understood and did as he requested. She nodded when she found a pulse, sighing in relief.

"You were right to come get me," he said, "let's get some of the warriors to help carry him up to my home. I want a word with him when he awakens."

She nodded, snapped her fingers, and got the attention of the nearby Dead Horses to help bring the soldier to the upper level of the cave. Joshua went ahead of them, and prepared a place where they could lay him.

Directly following him were the Dead Horses, carrying Craig in their arms. They placed him on the makeshift bed and left, leaving the concerned Running-Water behind.

"His soul hurts," she frowned, motioning toward the incapacitated soldier.

"Yes," Graham nodded, "pray for him. Pray for healing for his soul."

"I do already," the woman said. Her eyes were red and brimming with tears. Without a word, she left, leaving Joshua to sigh and shake his head at their guest.

He stooped down and rearranged the man on his side, so if he vomited, he wouldn't drown in it. He had seen this before while on missions, and heard of it as well. Craig drank himself into a stupor, after experiencing something horrible.

He had been suspicious when the soldier asked for a drink when they met, but didn't think much of it. After all, a drink after a long journey or a day of hard work was commonplace among wastelanders and NCR. But soon, whispers of Craig's true nature reached his ears, and Joshua knew it was only a matter of time before something triggered a major downward spiral.

Footsteps brought him out of his thoughts, and he turned to see Follows-Chalk standing in the threshold. Graham nodded and motioned for him to come in.

The scout frowned and stared at his recent traveling companion and shook his head.

"He was fine until we came across the bus with the little scouts," he said, "I want to help. He has so much anger and sadness."

"Right now," Graham replied, "we have to wait until he wakes up. From there, we have to get to the root of why he's doing this to himself. Give him some space for now; I'll call on you as soon as you're needed."

Follows-Chalk nodded and left the room, trying to hide his pout. Graham sighed to himself; the junior scout always wanted to be in the middle of what was going on. While he appreciated his enthusiasm, he was leery of letting him do too much alone, due to his inexperience.

Shaking his head, he turned his gaze back to Craig Boone. He knew what he had to do, but he wasn't a tender person. God would have to give him the right words to say at the right time.

In the meantime, all he could do was pray and wait for the soldier to awaken.

* * *

><p>The radio announcement that the New Vegas government was going to sell the farm and the mine brought people from all over, including the NCR. Already, word had gotten out that New Vegas was a place where people could find work, as well as start up a business.<p>

Despite Yes Man's reassurances, Six worried if there would be enough food for the sudden influx of people. After all, the NCR food mission disappeared after the battle was over, and the crops hadn't finished growing yet.

Six paced in the suite, running her hands through her hair. She had to do something, and she was slowly driving herself crazy with the waiting around.

"Stop it," Cass growled.

Six looked up from the carpet to meet the redhead's gaze. Her blue eyes reminded her of Vulpes' and she had to look away quickly. If he were here, he would know just what to say to make her feel better. Even after all the success she had, she missed him so much.

"If you're that worried," Cass said, "then go down to Freeside to help out. Talk to the Followers, and see what you can do."

Six nodded in agreement; this was an excellent plan.

"Come with me?" she asked, giving the caravaner her best pout.

"Sure," Cass replied, "I've got itchy feet, just like you."

Six walked toward the elevator with the caravaner's arm slung around her shoulder. They went to the bottom of the casino and opened the Lucky 38's old doors. Stepping down from the stairs, the pair made their way toward the old Mormon fort.

The large, wooden door was open, in the hopes that the air would circulate better throughout the complex. The tents looked full, and it appeared that they used bed sheets to create more for the sudden increase in patients. There were only a small amount of doctors, and with the amount of people that needed attention, it looked as if the care became less than optimal.

Julie Farkas rushed around from person to person, her face drenched in sweat. Six made eye contact with her as she spoke with a patient. Finishing quickly, the Follower came over to see what Six needed.

"Not to be rude," she panted, "but I don't have a lot of time."

Six nodded and watched as Arcade followed a different route between patients, his face covered in sweat as well. It made sense now why he was always tired when he came back for the night.

"How can I help?" she asked.

Julie bit her lip as she thought of something that Six could do.

"I've got two guys that were helping us here," she replied, "Jacob Hoff, and Bill Ronte. Jacob is a brilliant chemist, and he helped make our chems. Without him, our supply is running dangerously low. We also had Bill, who made the nearby water pump work. They've both become addicts, and there's no way that any of us have been able to convince them to quit. I don't think I have to tell you how important that is."

Six nodded in agreement.

"Why wasn't I contacted about all of this?" she asked, motioning around the entirety of the fort.

Sighing, Julie put her hand on her hip.

"It's nothing personal," she replied, "but the Followers don't like to get involved in governmental affairs."

"I understand that," Six nodded, "but in the future, just let me know how we can help. I think our mission is the same; we want to just give people the tools to succeed in life."

Julie smiled and gave her a quick hug, thanking her for her help. She excused herself to go back to helping with the overcrowded fort.

Six gave Arcade a quick wave and followed Cass toward the large, open gate. They had their work cut out for them, but Six knew that this was important. Leaving the fort, the pair made their way through Freeside, asking for the whereabouts of the two men who had gone missing. Each time Six asked, the question was answered with either a shrug or a sneer.

"We've got to make some of this stuff illegal," Six murmured.

Cass nodded in agreement and kicked at a nearby rock.

"Chems are useless shit," she said.

Six peered into the rubble of an old building, and saw a man sitting on a pile of worn-out linens. He smelled as if he hadn't bathed in weeks, and appeared to be under the effects of a powerful chem.

"I'm looking for Jacob Hoff," she said.

The man grunted and looked away, his eyes focusing on a crack in the wall. He seemed to want to ignore them, but Six wasn't about to give up.

"Do you know anything?" she asked.

He turned his dilated gaze toward her and let out a bitter chuckle.

"I know a lot," he replied, "more than most people, just enough to get myself arrested if I were in a better part of town."

"I do too," Six chuckled. Though she supposed there was a huge difference between being arrested and being crucified.

"You don't look like the kind," he scoffed, "but I'm Jacob."

He looked away from her and stared at the wall again. Six felt an overwhelming surge of pity for this man, and wanted so much to help him.

"Who's your dealer?" Cass asked.

Jacob turned to stare at her as if she was insane.

"You don't want the jet," he replied, "You can't stop it if you start it."

"I'm a grown ass woman," Cass hissed, "Now, your dealer?"

He shook his head and pointed out the door.

"Dixon," he replied, "Just across the way there."

Six nodded and went with Cass toward the dealer, calling over her shoulder for him to not go anywhere. His response was a choked laugh, and a reply that he had nowhere to go anyway.

Across the street, near Mick and Ralph's new storefront, a man leaned against a building with his arms crossed. He was dirtier than most in Freeside, and gave Six a quick nod as she approached him.

"Dixon?" she asked. He nodded quickly and got out his pack of chems.

"I need you to stop selling to some people," she continued, "Jacob Hoff and Bill Ronte."

He laughed at her and shook his head.

"You and what army?" Dixon sneered.

"A securitron army," she shrugged. Six wasn't going to play around with being nice to this guy, who knew exactly what he was doing to the people of Freeside.

Dixon nodded hurriedly and promised that he would stop selling to the two men she mentioned earlier.

"Also," Six added, "I'd begin to think of something else you can do with your time. Food is something you could sell, and people need it more than drugs."

She let him ponder why she would bother to tell him that, and hoped that he would come to the conclusion that what he was doing was about to become very illegal. After all, Six couldn't let this continue, not when she had the power to stop it.

She and Cass made their way back across the street toward Jacob Hoff, the caravaner giving her a pat on the back.

"That was nice there," Cass chuckled, "give that fucker something to think about."

Six nodded, and they crossed the threshold into the dilapidated building that Jacob occupied. He didn't bother to look up as they entered.

"His stuff is shit," he murmured.

Six knelt down next to the stinky man and tried to look him in the eye. All around him, empty containers of Jet lay. There was no telling how long they had been there, nor was there any way of knowing how many he had had recently.

"You don't have to worry about that anymore," Six said, "he's agreed to stop selling to you."

Jacob's attention snapped toward her, his gaze more angry than hopeful.

"I need it," he insisted.

"No," Six countered, "I don't need it, so you don't need it."

He shook his head violently, his eyes brimming with tears.

"The withdrawal," he replied, "I can't make it through the withdrawal."

Jacob hugged his knees and stared at Six's boots. He was unwilling to look her in the eye, unwilling to give her a chance to talk to him. Maybe all he needed was some persuasion.

"Look," she murmured, "I know you're in a bad place in your life. You don't have control, and you think you do. But the Jet controls you."

She paused for a moment, wondering if he even processed what she said.

"Do you know who sent me?" she asked.

Jacob threw his hands up in exasperation, saying that he didn't care.

"Julie sent me," Six continued, "and she does care. This doesn't just affect you. It affects her, and the rest of your friends. It affects Freeside even, and you know that. The withdrawal is going to hurt, but you've got friends, and they're all doctors. They want you to succeed. How about you give them a chance?"

She was met with nothing more than silence, and was about to give up.

"Julie's been a good friend," he replied, "and I'm sick of inhaling brahmin shit. So I'll do it."

Six smiled at him and offered her hand. He took it, and the Courier helped him up. She wasn't about to let him find his own way to the fort, even though it was nearby. If she said she would help him, then Six knew she had better walk with him, to ensure that he made it there and didn't stop on the way.

The walk was short, and Six left him in Julie's care. Watching the pair hug and be reunited made Six think of Boone, and made her wish so much that she could have helped him like this.

But he was gone, and she was sure that he wouldn't come back. The thought made her wish she had handled him differently.

Six just hoped Boone was happy, wherever he was.

* * *

><p>He opened his eyes to see the ceiling of Angel Cave. Torchlight bounced off the jagged rock, casting shadowy patterns all over. Boone took a moment to observe the distortion of the light as he registered that he hadn't accomplished what he set out to do. He was a failure as a soldier, a husband, and a father. And now, he had even failed at drinking himself to death.<p>

"Huh," he sighed, "Alive after all."

There was a small, almost imperceptible noise from the far side of the room as the Burned Man shifted in his chair. Boone barely heard the footsteps coming toward him and figured he had better sit up.

"Welcome back, Craig," Joshua called.

His eyes met the other man's, and Boone looked away quickly. There was something in that gaze that cut through to his very core, something knowing, open, and non-judgmental. He had the pity of a man who had raised armies of hell with his own hand, and it made Boone wonder just how damned he could get.

He was trapped as Joshua Graham knelt down next to him, leaving him no way to escape without stepping around or over him. Grey-blue eyes held him captive, reminding Boone of the stern look his father would give him when he was in trouble.

"I'm not one to get involved in other people's issues," Graham said, "but I do know a suicide attempt when I see one."

That was blunt, also like his father. It made Boone miss more things in his life that were gone forever.

"I'm NCR," Boone scoffed, "you shouldn't care."

He was being childish, something that would have made Carla stomp her foot and whine at him until he smiled and caved. The thought filled him with an indescribable longing, and had he had his rifle on him, he may have tried to shoot himself with it.

"I see too much of myself in you," Joshua admitted, "and you're so close to the fire that would kill you."

Boone snorted and crossed his arms.

"Good," he nodded, "I deserve it."

There was a furrow of the other man's brow, and a quick shake of his head.

"Do you have any family?" Graham asked.

Boone shook his head. His parents died in a raider attack long ago, while he was off fighting for the NCR. He killed Carla himself, and his baby–

Oh, God, his baby.

There weren't tears left in his body for them, so he stared straight ahead into the fire.

"Friends?" Joshua asked.

"Dunno," Boone sighed.

"What happened with them?" he pressed.

Boone wasn't sure why the man cared, or why he was even bothering. Then again, he supposed that he hadn't given him enough information for him to realize that he was better off left alone.

"Got in a fight," Boone sighed, "told her no when she was used to everyone telling her yes."

"Do you love her?" Graham asked.

"No," he laughed, "I would have made Six cry all the time. Carla had enough of an attitude that she could put up with my shit."

The Burned Man nodded in understanding, and Boone could see him try to smile under his bandages.

"And Carla?" Joshua asked.

"Carla is–"

No, not is. Not is anymore. She was, not is.

"Was," he corrected, "my wife."

Just as quickly as he laughed from the absurd thought of himself and Six together, Boone crashed at the mention of his wife. He just wanted Graham to stop his questions and leave, but he supposed that he deserved to have the pain brought up again. Boone knew the next question, so he figured he would just answer it and save the man the trouble.

"She was sold by one of the townspeople," he said, "I tracked her to Cottonwood Cove and shot her so she wouldn't have to go through being a slave. Carla was pregnant."

He didn't have to look at Joshua Graham to know that he felt guilty. That was his Legion that enslaved Carla, and Boone's stupidity that made him trust Jeannie May Crawford. Perhaps, they were equally guilty. But what happened to Carla was just a part of his misfortune.

Boone stared at the old stitching in the worn blanket that lay across his lap. He wondered why they had covered him in something, especially when he could have ruined it so easily. It hit him then that he hadn't thrown up, and was carrying on a decent conversation, even after the amount he drank.

Graham stared at him for a moment in thought before stretching his legs out in front of him.

"Is that why you feel like you deserve this?" he asked.

Boone shook his head. Karma was coming for him, and had been for a long time. What happened with Carla was only a small portion of what he deserved.

"I was at Bitter Springs," he admitted.

Joshua Graham reacted in a similar way that Fox did, simply nodding and understanding. For a moment, they simply sat there in silence. Boone wondered why he told this man about Bitter Springs, why he couldn't just suffer alone. Everyone he got close to died or got lost because of what he did; Carla, Manny, Six, and even the Happy Trails Caravan. There was no reason why this would be any different. The people he made short friendships with disappeared as well. Boone snorted as he realized that Six breaking up with Fox probably protected the man from his bad luck. Still didn't do a hell of a lot for her, though.

"I've done things," Graham said, "some of the most terrible things. Every day, the scars on my body remind me that I have failed as a person. Every time I change the bandages, it is as if the fire is there all over again."

Boone nodded slowly, thinking about how everything reminded him of Carla.

"But," Joshua continued, "I have learned that every time I am reminded of the things I did, I can only be grateful for the chance I've been given to live my life the way it was meant to be lived. The reminders aren't there to punish you, Craig. They're there to keep you living a moral life. And sometimes, bad things will happen to you, even if you're doing the right thing."

Boone laughed, the sound bitter and fragile to even his own ears. He was cracking, breaking at the seams that he so carefully tried to stitch together. Six had taken him in, with all of his brokenness, and tried her damnedest to fix him, to smother him with her kindness until he choked on it and couldn't take it any longer. Veronica, Arcade, and Fox tried too, giving him his space when he brooded, accepting him even when he drank such an embarrassingly large amount of booze. Even Cass, a fellow drinker, helped him out by making sure he didn't drown in his own filth or trying to get him to switch to water when it was way too late.

There was a hand around his shoulder, giving him a reassuring pat. Though the hand was small, it and the arm that it was attached to felt solid and strong, despite the bandages wrapped around it. But the most surprising thing was that he felt a human under there, a person with emotions, a man who had become somehow invested in his doomed future. Boone almost laughed from the absurdity of the feeling of such a monstrous legend becoming attached to him, but it died on his tongue when he looked into the eyes that reminded him so much of his father.

"I'm going to offer something to you," Graham said, "It's completely free, but it's going to be hard work. The choice I give you is to stop drinking, and to have aid during your detox. But the thing I will not aid is your habit. If you refuse to quit, then we will not offer you food nor shelter. The Dead Horses, as well as myself and the Sorrows, will not support your habit. Now, will you accept my offer?"

It didn't feel like an epiphany, or any sort of glorious moment of salvation. Instead, it felt as sluggish and tiring as the rest of his monotonously gloomy life. But, buried beneath mountains of shouldn'ts, wouldn'ts, couldn'ts and can'ts, there was something that called to him. He was tired of living like this, tired of having so much pain, and tired of everyone leaving him. So Boone took a shuddering breath, and replied with the only word he could think of at the time:

Yes.


	44. Chapter 44

A/n: Sorry for the delay on this chapter. I got a new laptop and have been in the middle of a project for class, with a critique on Monday.

* * *

><p>Craig sat next to him, staring at the sun coming up over the canyon walls. Below, the camp was getting ready for the morning and the smell of roasted mantis legs drifted upward. A dog barked, followed by the sound of children's laughter. Joshua Graham let out a long sigh as he felt a completeness that continued to astound him. Craig seemed peaceful too, and it made Joshua feel nothing short of honored, that the Lord would use him as an instrument to touch the young man's life.<p>

The first week was the worst, and Graham expected it to be such. Still, Craig performed admirably well. He didn't want to get his hopes up about the young man, but his progress seemed to be good. They spoke much about things that effected Craig's life, and his life as well. The Legion was often a topic of discussion, as well as the friends that Craig made in the Mojave. Occasionally, he would speak about Carla, but it was not often.

"I just don't understand how anyone could do that," the sniper murmured, "putting a woman in chains and all."

This again. But Joshua knew that it was a topic that was intimately tied to Craig.

"And you don't think that the men are slaves too?" Graham asked, "The overwhelming majority of them have been raised to serve in battle. There is no choice."

He couldn't believe that he was defending his life's greatest sin, but there it was. The men of the Legion were slaves, equally pitiful as the enslaved women, though much more brainwashed.

"There's always a choice," Craig hissed.

"There is," he replied, "but if you're not taught to think for yourself and are told to obey at all costs, then choice is never an option. Think about Bitter Springs."

He put a gentle hand on Craig's back, a sad smile lost underneath his bandages. Sometimes, people were not so different from each other.

"It's just," Craig sighed, "that's something that a man has to know as wrong by nature." He threw his hands up in exasperation.

"Some do," Joshua said, "and some of those men have proven themselves in battle and have been given an order to breed. The women aren't the only ones forced."

Craig looked at him in horror, as if he hadn't thought of that.

"There were men who treated the women well," Graham remarked, "and I do wonder what happened to some, one in particular."

He wondered what made him reminisce so much about his time in the Legion, and supposed it was from the presence of an outsider. After all, the tribes didn't have much to do with the Legion at all, at least, not until recently.

"We got some intel on them," Craig grunted, "What's his name?"

"Vulpes Inculta," Graham replied.

The long string of curses that came from Craig's mouth told him that Vulpes was indeed alive, and that he was likely on the NCR's most wanted list. Briefly, Joshua wondered why Vulpes hadn't been sent to assassinate him. It was most likely that Caesar didn't want to risk one of his favored officers.

"He irradiated Searchlight, giving the Legion a foothold at Cottonwood Cove," Craig frowned, "and some are blaming station Charlie and Nipton's destruction on him as well. I'd agree with them. He's been a thorn in the side of the NCR, ranked number four in the succession line."

"Four?" Graham asked, "So, he's grown in rank considerably."

Though the Legion tried its best, sometimes, a man would emerge that had his own will. Vulpes was a prime example; he was ambitious, and willing to make himself look terrible, all to serve Caesar. Combined with Caesar's desire to be worshiped, it was no surprise that he had become so high-ranked.

"He's the head of the frumentarii," Craig nodded, "though we have no idea what his face looks like or anything."

Craig looked at him pointedly and Graham sighed, knowing exactly what he wanted to know. Vulpes had a way of charming people, to that point that Graham felt a sort of attachment to him, even after four years. This strange, nonsensical attachment made him want to try to hunt Vulpes down and fix him, as he had helped Craig.

But Craig had wanted help. Vulpes, on the other hand, would never want help. It would take the eternal love of a stern God to redeem his soul, if it was still possible.

"He's a tall, thin man," Graham replied, "would be in his mid-twenties now. Black hair, blue eyes, and very pale. Vulpes has a very distinctive voice, that if you heard it, you would never forget it. But he's very good at what he does; he could sneak in to the NCR ambassador's office and have a conversation with him without being identified."

"I doubt that," Craig snorted.

"Do you?" he replied, "You might have even seen him once, conversed with him. He could have been very agreeable."

Craig's frown had grown to a full-blown scowl. It was obvious that the idea of even speaking with the enemy was incredibly distasteful.

"He's human," Joshua said, "with thoughts, emotions, and desires. The same can be said of anyone. But we both know the great evil that humans are capable of. Evil like that, like the Legion and the White Legs, needs to be destroyed."

"Was worried about you there for a moment," Craig grunted.

Graham stared out at the river and wondered if the soldier was ready for another task. The Dead Horses were in desperate times; preparations had to be made for war making, and time was not on their side. He and Craig shared the same heart, one that longed for justice against those who did evil. Remembering what the White Legs did to the New Canaanites filled him with righteous fury. Now was the time for war.

"By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept," He recited, "when we remembered Zion. Remember, O Lord, The Children of Edom in the day of Jerusalem who said, "Raze it, raze it, even to the foundation." O daughter of Babylon, who art to be destroyed. How happy shall he be, that rewardeth thee as thou hast served us. Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones."

Craig shifted next to him, his head tilted to the side.

"I didn't get a lot of that," he murmured, "but it sounds like the White Legs are gonna get what's coming to them."

"Yes," Graham replied, "In the best of all possible worlds, they would just leave us in peace. But they won't. I don't enjoy killing, but when done righteously, it's just a chore like any other. Practiced hands make for short work. And the good Lord knows that there's much work to be done here."

Craig nodded shortly.

"You'll get no argument from me," he replied, "These White Legs are human garbage."

With a frown, Joshua shook his head.

"They're still God's children," he argued, "but if they turn against their brothers and sisters, and won't listen to reason, if they pollute the Lord's temples on earth, like Zion, then who are we to stand by and let them continue?"

"That's what I meant," Craig replied, "Sometimes a fight is the right thing."

"Yes," he nodded, "I'm glad you agree. Unfortunately, Daniel, the minister to the Dead Sorrows, does not see things the way we do. The items you collected are for him."

Craig waited for him to issue orders, even though it was obvious that he was going to ask him to deliver them to Daniel. He was a soldier through and through; he didn't presume anything about his orders, until they were given. Such discipline boded well for Craig's recovery, and Joshua was cautiously optimistic. But he knew all too well that Craig would never be able to drink again. There was no such thing as cutting back, and truthfully, cutting back would send the soldier into another downward spiral.

"If you're feeling well," Joshua said, "then I would have you deliver them to Daniel. Follows-Chalk will go with you, to make sure that you find your way without trouble."

Craig smirked and nodded, knowing full well that he had to re-earn his trust. He seemed to be accepting of the fact.

"I'm sweating constantly," Craig replied, "haven't gotten used to solid food, and I'm cranky as hell. But, you know what? I'm feeling a hell of a lot better than when I started. That's the scary part."

"Let's get started, then," Joshua replied.

Craig Boone had been sent to them for a reason, and he knew that they could help each other.

* * *

><p>Boone felt sheepish around Follows-Chalk, the guy who had seen a big part of his failures. But whatever he had done before didn't seem to have an effect on the tribal, something that made him uneasy. How could he ignore what had happened?<p>

"I bet they don't have anything as nasty as yao-guai where you come from," Follows said. He whispered and pointed toward a gigantic, mutated bear on a faraway ridge.

Boone withdrew his rifle and peered at it through the scope. In places, the bear was missing fur, like many of the animals that encountered radiation. He held his breath as he peered into its milky eyes and fired a single shot, downing the creature. It was one less for the tribe to worry about. Maybe killing it would help reset all the bad things he had done since he got there.

"Deathclaws," Boone said, "they're much worse than yao-guai."

Follows-Chalk turned to stare at him with wide eyes.

"Death claws?" he asked, "What is that?"

"A giant lizard," Boone replied, "with huge claws, each about as long as my forearm."

The scout gasped and mumbled something in his language. Shaking his head, he continued to lead Boone through the shallow river toward the Sorrows camp. Maybe Follows-Chalk didn't think much of the shit he put him through, but it was too uncomfortable for Boone to bear.

"Look," he sighed, "you don't have to act like nothing happened. I've been an ass."

Follows-Chalk smiled and turned around, giving him a friendly pat on the back.

"That wasn't you," he said.

Boone shook his head in protest.

"That was me," he replied, "that was me being short, me making those decisions, and me making an ass of myself."

The scout nodded and stared down at the water in thought.

"Then if it was," he said, "it doesn't matter. Where other people could hold a grudge, I will not, knowing that I do bad things too. I can only choose to forgive."

"That's generous," Boone remarked, "I hope that others can do the same, but I won't expect it."

"A good person will forgive always," Follows-Chalk smiled.

The tribal walked on, and Boone just stood for a moment, looking around him and thinking about what had been said. Yes, it took a good person to forgive, but not all good people forgave.

He supposed he had no right to worry, not after what he had done to those who only tried to help him. But all he wanted was to be near the people he cast aside, if they would have him back. The sour feeling in the pit of his stomach felt strange; Boone wasn't used to such strong feelings. There was nothing he could do about it, not while he was in Zion.

He'd see this through to the end, to help the people who didn't judge him, and the man who'd completely surprised him by showing an incredible amount of caring. With that in mind, Boone caught up to Follows-Chalk, determined to make something of himself, if only in this small part of the world.

The cliff walls were high here, and a sign stood in the water against the painted rock, calling the area 'The Narrows'. Boone followed his guide through the water, toward a path that led up and around a hill. To the side, campfires and beds lay, various painted tribals looking at them and speaking amongst themselves in their language.

Ignoring their stares, Boone made his way through the river, and onto a path that led uphill. It wound around a large boulder that jutted out of the water. Rounding the corner, he watched Follows-Chalk greet a man that was dressed in regular clothes. The man nodded as the tribal explained who Boone was, and the man approached him with a smile.

"The Dead Horses told me about the details about the attack on your caravan," he nodded, "a stranger's sympathy might not be much, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry. The Sorrows will mourn your friends too. They mourn everyone, even the White Legs."

The man's short, black beard moved almost imperceptibly as he frowned, his already worried, sad eyes keeping their expression. With a small incline of his hat, the man reached out and shook Boone's hand firmly.

"In spite of what's happened," he sighed, "we're going to need your help. I'm sure Joshua has told you about what's going on here. My name is Daniel, and I minister to the Sorrows."

"I've got the items you needed," Boone nodded, "This should be everything."

He swung his pack from his shoulders, and began to hand the items over to him. Follows-Chalk did the same; they had enough stuff that two people were required to carry them. One of the Sorrows came over to help Daniel with storing the items. She stacked the lunch boxes neatly underneath one of the tent canopies, placing the walkie-talkies and doctor's bag beside them.

"Well, I'll be," Daniel smiled, "I was beginning to lose hope that we'd get any of this, much less, all of it. The tribes have a hard time letting go of a taboo, so I figured it'd have to be one of us."

"Wasn't too hard," Boone admitted.

With a nod, Daniel turned to look at Boone once more.

"These supplies are a godsend," he said, "but if we're going to have any luck getting out of here without drawing White Leg attention, then we're going to need more. Specifically, if you can, I'd need a map of the Grand Staircase."

"I'll see what I can do," Boone replied, "I've gotten help since I've been here, and it's the least I could do."

Daniel opened his mouth, as if to say something, but he stopped quickly. With a sigh, he removed his hat from his head and began to fan himself.

"I," he hesitated, "I heard about what happened. Not the details, mind you; those are something for you alone to share if you want. Some people can get upset if you say this to them, but I suppose I'll say it anyway. I'm praying for you, and your recovery."

Daniel gave him a genuine smile, one so kind and full of patience that Boone found himself reminded of Six. Boone attempted to return the smile and his face felt strange; it was something he hadn't made a concentrated effort to do in a long time. With a frown, Boone wondered just exactly how dark his days had been, that something so simple as a smile felt strange.

"I understand," Boone replied, "thanks."

With a nod, he took his leave, intent on finding that map. It would be his key out of Zion.

* * *

><p>Vulpes couldn't stop the persistent rumors that he and Lanius were living as man and woman, and truthfully, he stopped caring after a few weeks of settling into a routine. He rarely slept in his own room anymore; it was as if he was a concubine, revolving his life around the time he would be called to serve. And there was rarely a time when he wasn't called.<p>

He stretched and yawned in the empty bed that wasn't his own, wincing when his back seized in pain. Letting out a grumble of frustration, Vulpes gingerly stood and began to put his clothes. The Butcher loved to bend him into nearly impossible positions, which caused this sudden increase in back pain.

Finally dressed, Vulpes opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. Every guard turned and looked his way, each doing a poor job at hiding his disgust. He did this walk of shame every morning, and he had gotten used to it. After all, it wasn't as if he had done this willingly, nor were the praetorians jumping to right the wrong that insulted their delicate senses.

Vulpes wound his way around the corner to leave the private rooms and disgusted guards behind. He needed to see Siri to get the stiffness worked out of his back.

Marcus and Crassius stood at the doors that led to the outside, and Vulpes sighed. He was hoping to avoid them; they were the only ones who would ask questions.

"Ave," Marcus called, "you've been busy."

Vulpes couldn't help but notice the appreciative glance cast his way and chose to ignore it. They had no idea what was going on, and if they did, it wasn't as if they could do anything about it anyway.

"Busy, bored," he replied, "depends on perspective."

Crassius frowned, concern etched onto his features. Vulpes sighed, knowing that the praetorian would very likely know what was going on. Crassius was perceptive, much more than his carefree counterpart.

"It certainly sounds like it's been fun," Marcus chuckled.

"Depends on perspective," Vulpes repeated, "Maybe he'll get bored of me; more likely, I'll get bored of me."

He let the statement hang in the air, and Vulpes wondered if he would truly do what he implied. The muscles in his back painfully seized again, answering the question for him. Yes, if things continued the way they were, then he supposed the Legion would be fine without him.

Marcus seemed to sober up from his comment and gave him a quick pat on the shoulder.

"Neither of us are bored with you," he said, "if you get bored of yourself, have a talk with us first."

Vulpes understood what the guard said, but chose to ignore it.

"Don't let him see you touching me," he frowned, moving away from his touch.

Vulpes wasn't in the mood to talk, and quickly walked away to find the healer. He wandered across the old campus, the gravely remains of run-down sidewalks crunching under his boots. Legionaries and slaves alike stopped what they were doing, and Vulpes knew that they all knew, likely presuming that he was making a grab at power. It couldn't be further from the truth.

He did his best to ignore the stares and opened the door to the old clinic. Siri sat up with a start, making him chuckle.

"Don't let people think you're just sitting around," he greeted.

The healer nodded and cast her gaze to the ground in submission. Sighing, Vulpes began to remove his armor as Siri looked for the oil she used to work the knots out of his back. He laid down on the table in the center of the room. Soon, he felt a drizzle of the cool oil on his back, and a set of hands following quickly to begin to rub it in.

"So many bruises," she remarked, "you must be training hard."

Vulpes let out a bitter choke of laughter at her statement.

"You know the rumors," he snorted, "don't play coy."

She froze for a moment then renewed her effort. Vulpes closed his eyes, her touch soothing more than just his back pain. Human interaction, beyond the Butcher's vile touch made him feel as if he could possibly go on, even if every second was terrible.

"It was a shock," the woman murmured, "it doesn't seem like you."

"It isn't like me," he remarked.

Vulpes heard a light sniff as Siri removed her hands from his back to wipe her face with her forearm. Was she crying for him?

"Sympathy for the devil," he told her.

But Siri didn't seem to care, and he felt a hot, wet drop land on his back. She was another slave woman, taking pity on him because of his situation.

"He doesn't hurt me," Vulpes offered, repeating what he said long ago to the slave that took pity on his situation with his instructor.

"But you still don't want it," Siri replied, "that's rape. That's wrong."

Was it rape? He hadn't been hurt, and had been given a modest dose of pleasure from the arrangement.

"I didn't say no," Vulpes offered, perplexed by what she was trying to say.

Siri worked her palms deeply into the flesh between his shoulder blades, making him grunt. The issue was deep within the muscle, and it would take a lot of work to get it sorted out.

"And if you said no?" she asked.

"He would have done it anyway," he sighed, "and possibly would have killed me."

With a gulp, Vulpes realized that he had his answer. He was raped. And, if that situation meant that he had indeed been raped, then, the things that he had done to Siri and an assortment of other women had been rape as well. He was a rapist.

"I suppose this should make you happy," Vulpes remarked.

He sat up to look at the teary-eyed woman, who simply shook her head. It was angering, that she would treat him well, after he clearly had done something terrible to her. Furious, Vulpes grabbed her wrists and wrestled her toward the table with a ferocious kiss. Siri fell limp against the table, refusing to struggle.

"Say no," he demanded, "tell me to stop."

Her tears grew into a full-blown sob as he nipped at her neck. Vulpes wanted validation, proof that he was a monster, proof that he didn't deserve her pity. Instead, she craned her head in the opposite direction and allowed him better access to her neck. Siri opened her legs for him and whispered 'yes' into his ear.

Vulpes responded in the only way he knew.

* * *

><p>"If we get caught in here," Marcus whispered, "it's going to be bad. We're sneaking into the room of a sneak, you know."<p>

Crassius grunted and opened the one of the drawers of Vulpes' desk. Their self-assigned mission was more important than their friendship with Vulpes, and he wouldn't leave without getting what he wanted. But it wasn't in this drawer, so he closed it and opened the next one.

There, in the center of the drawer, lay Vulpes' prized revolver. Without hesitation, Crassius removed it and shut the drawer. He hid the weapon against his thigh as he and Marcus left the room exactly as they had seen it. Their room was directly across the hallway, making the unlawful acquisition of the weapon much easier. Neither dared to speak until they had closed the door behind them.

"We have to hide it," Marcus said. He began to rummage around in the old dresser in the room and lifted the old clothes within to create a spot for the weapon.

Crassius gave the handsome gun one last look before placing it in the drawer, allowing Marcus to cover it in clothes.

"I don't like the way he's talking," Marcus said. He shook his head, sighed, and began to pace.

Crassius didn't like it either, and hoped that removing the temptation of the gun from his room would help Vulpes. There was nobody they could turn to, nobody they could tell that Vulpes seemed to be in a downward spiral of increasingly negative thoughts.

"We've done what we can," Crassius replied, "now all we can do is hope."

"Perhaps the Butcher," Marcus began, and then threw his hands up in exasperation, knowing fully that Caesar Lanius was the root of the problem.

At night, the sounds of bedsprings creaking, flesh hitting flesh, and Vulpes' gasps drifted down the hallway. When they started, it had given them hope that perhaps the law would be changed. But as soon as the realization that the affair was to be swept under the rug dawned on the pair, they began to listen more closely. They noticed that Vulpes was beginning to progressively wilt with each passing night, an unsettling dullness wrapping itself around the normally expressive man.

Crassius knew that Marcus hoped that it wasn't as it seemed, but he had his doubts long before his partner. Vulpes was coerced, each whine drifting down the hallway a wordless pleading that it would all stop.

That day, Vulpes dropped hints at his true feelings, and Crassius felt almost cruel taking his gun from the man. But he believed that Mars would see the plight of his servant, and rescue him from the madness that Caesar Lanius led them toward.

They just had to be patient, and prepare for anything.

* * *

><p>It was dark before the one he had been looking for returned to him. Vulpes leaned against the closed doorway to the Butcher's room, his face pink as if he had come as quickly as possible. Lanius smiled; it was a good look for him.<p>

"Where were you?" he asked.

He wasn't used to his lover running off on him and wondered why his stomach clenched when he realized that he didn't know where Vulpes was. It was more than the feeling of misplaced property, much more than the feeling of missing a friend. He loved and hated the feeling of desperation that he felt tied to Vulpes.

"I was at the healer's," Vulpes replied, "for my back."

"Your back?" Lanius asked.

"From flogging," he explained, "having it bent in certain ways can make the muscles knot up. Each time it happens, I am reminded of the price of disobedience. Each time, I need to get the muscles massaged until they relax."

Vulpes came forward and dramatically draped himself on him, his hand tracing circles on his chest. The Butcher was shocked by the sudden display of affection, and his anger that Vulpes disappeared on him almost vanished. Almost.

"No more of that," he ordered, "if you feel sore again, then I will take care of it."

The Fox opened his mouth to protest, but Lanius quickly silenced him with a kiss. Vulpes' hand splayed across his chest as the kiss deepened, almost pushing back on him. He wouldn't have that, and truthfully, was getting sick of the mixed signals. Vulpes teased and touched him, then pushed him away. It was sweet torture.

Lanius didn't care how others talked, didn't care about the dirty looks that the praetorians gave them. Vulpes belonged to him.


	45. Chapter 45

A/n and PSA: Some dark stuff in this chapter in the last section (section 5). If you're sensitive to suicidal thoughts, then I suggest you not read it. Also, if you are, and you haven't told someone, find someone you trust and just talk about it. A recent loss of a friend has made me see the effects of what happens when someone takes their own life, and the immense pain it causes to those left behind. I promise that everyone's been depressed at least once in their life (been there myself), and people do get through it.

* * *

><p>If there was anything that Heck Gunderson wanted, he got it. If it were a gift, the recipient would often be stuck with something they didn't want. But whoever received his gifts had to try their best to honor that gift, lest they incur the wrath of Mr. Gunderson. That was what Six heard. She wondered if the same thing applied to the man's own son, and as she watched him walk around the run-down quarry camp grumbling, she supposed it was true.<p>

"You'll be able to expand our empire," Mr. Gunderson declared, "We'll have a hand in a little bit of everything. Folks back in the NCR will pay good money for what your people mine." He gave his son a resounding thump on the back, and Ted simply grumbled.

Though Six liked Mr. Gunderson as a person, she was wary of letting the man becoming too involved in New Vegas. He had a reputation for steamrolling over everyone that tried to stand in his way, including the small, local businesses. At the same time, his presence was good for trade, and especially good for population growth. Maybe Ted would run the mine more kindly than his father would have, though she suspected that whoever the foreman became would be in charge.

That was why she was there; Six wanted to encourage Ted to hire locally. After all, the people of New Vegas would be relatively cheap hires. The last thing she wanted to do was regulate the local businesses, so she figured that a friendly chat now and then would help things out.

"Folks from Primm are interested in working for you," Six said, "as well as Westside. Both are very close communities, and I think you'll find what you're looking for from there."

Ted nodded and shrugged.

"Guess they'll be as good as any," he grunted.

Six stared out at the city that worked so hard to become something great. New Vegas awakened to become a community of incredible people that worked together; they just needed the opportunity to try, which was something that nobody had given them until now.

Heck Gunderson scooted closer to Six, leaning in to give her a conspiratory whisper.

"How about that vineyard?" he asked, "some wine goes very well with brahmin steak."

"Purchased by an enterprising group of Westsiders," the Courier replied, "they've been a self-sustaining community for a while, and it's only natural that they ended up taking the next step."

The brahmin baron nodded and backed off. Six hoped that he would leave them alone. If not, she might have to step in, even if it was against her own rules to do so. Still, she expected good things to come from allowing people to generally do as they pleased.

* * *

><p>There wasn't much to do, and Cass got the itch in her boots again, though where her boots wanted to take her was strange. She had been eying Goodsprings, of all places, but she didn't have any reason to settle down there.<p>

Normally, a failure, like not having enough money to buy the vineyard, would have made her pack up her life into a small sack and just walk wherever she could. But this time, running from her problems didn't feel right. Instead, Cass felt the desire to make things happen for her.

Maybe she was just getting old; she was, after all, thirty-goddamned-seven, and the number made her cringe every time she thought of it. Cass didn't want to be all gushy like these other old broads, whining about how their biological clock was running own, but yeah, having a little shit or two running around would be nice.

Of course, the part missing from that equation was a man. She remembered the pain of being abandoned by her father, remembered the feelings that she wasn't good enough, or that she had done something wrong to make him leave. Those same, irrational feelings haunted Cass to that very day, and they made her realize that she would have to pick a man who would stick around. It wasn't often that she learned the names of her hookups, and that made them inaccessible. So, Cass considered her short list of options of men whose names she actually knew.

Boone, if he came back, had the right look for a dad, but would probably sooner jack off over the corpse of a dead Legionary than fuck like a normal human. That, coupled with the fact that he drank more than Cass had seen anyone drink, scratched him completely off the list.

Then there was Fox, if he came back as well. He didn't seem like the settling down type, but goddamn, she bet the process of making a baby with him would be one hell of a good time. Fox was the kind that she would screw for a week straight, only taking breaks to eat or whatever. But even looking at him the wrong way could get Six to kill the shit out of her, so Cass would respectfully decline. It was a damned shame.

The only man left was Arcade, who she saw every day. He was definitely handsome, very smart and caring, and her same age as well. But he wasn't into women, so that fucked the whole plan over.

She sighed, realizing that the only man she knew that she saw often was queerer than a star bottle cap.

Many came in to New Vegas recently to try to find fortune, and Cass supposed that was where she should look. The caravaner stood from her chair, earning a strange look from Veronica.

"Where're ya going?" she asked.

Cass grabbed her bottle of whiskey to take with her, then thought better of it and set it down on the table.

"Prowling," she replied.

The Scribe didn't bother to ask and went back to her tinkering. Cass rode the elevator down to the bottom of the Casino, her mind made up.

She just had to have the right man wander into town, and that son of a bitch would be hers.

* * *

><p>Searching for the map of the Grand Staircase was proving to be difficult, even with Boone and Follows-Chalk combining their efforts. Ignoring the taboos of the tribes, they entered as many caves as they could in search of the map.<p>

Boone crouched in the entrance of Morning Glory cave, his partner crouching as well. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark before making his way forward and down a steep incline. The path was narrow, the ceiling low. It led out to a large cavern full of boulders and rock formations. Boone's boots made no sound on the sandy floor as he stepped forward cautiously. A beam of light from a crack in the cavern's ceiling illuminated a part of the room, and Boone took stock of his surroundings. It appeared to be a typical cave, save a few large plant pods that swayed in the breeze.

Boone stopped abruptly as he realized that there was no breeze in the cave. The plants were moving on their own. He stopped the scout behind him and pointed to the plants. Follows-Chalk gave him a perplexed look and shook his head.

Frowning, the soldier figured that he ought to test his theory. If he were wrong, he would be out a bullet. But if he were right, then he would potentially save their asses.

Boone silently brought his rifle to his shoulder, took aim at the plant, and fired. In an instant, it collapsed, signaling that these weren't ordinary plants. He aimed for another abomination, shooting it before it could move. Next to him, Follows-Chalk opened fire, killing another fanged plant. A stream of acid landed at Boone's feet and he whirled around in time to shoot the spore plant before it could get another shot off.

The cavern was still and quiet, save their labored breath from the fight. Boone's heart hammered in his chest as the sheer horror of sentient plants took root in his mind. Had he not noticed the moving, had he not looked around, had he been drunk, they would have been lunch. He was a hell of a lot sharper than he had been a few weeks ago.

"Giant Cazadors," he grumbled, "and now living, breathing plants. This place is something else."

Follows-Chalk smiled and chuckled sheepishly. Shaking his head, Boone led them up a rocky path that had an old, rusted door at the top. More than halfway up, he saw a tripwire, and a rigged shotgun on the ground not too far from it. Boone disarmed the trap and broke down the locked door. Avoiding the bear traps lining the floor, he searched through an old hovel that someone had set up long ago.

There was a duffel bag next to an old bedroll, and Boone decided to search through it. He was prepared for another fruitless search, but at least there would be good supplies in the bag. Boone removed ammo, as well as medical supplies before coming across a holotape. Flipping it over, he almost laughed as he read the words 'map of Grand Staircase region' on the label.

"Got it," he called.

Follows-Chalk peered over his shoulder at the tape and squinted.

"Doesn't look like a map to me," he frowned.

"It's a holotape," Boone replied, "you put it into a machine and the map will display on the screen of the device you use. Daniel probably has something to view it with."

Follows-Chalk's ignorance didn't annoy Boone anymore, and truthfully, he found it endearing and refreshing. He understood the desire to go places, meet people, and discover new things. He had the same urge years ago, in a time before he had met Carla, a time before Bitter Springs.

Thinking of Carla still stung, but Boone realized that he would be okay, that his whole life didn't have to center around her death. He would live every day honoring how she lived, not how she died, and that thought alone brought some sort of comfort.

In the past few weeks, Boone learned that Bitter Springs was his burden to bear. While he could never undo the damage he had done, Boone had the ability to change his corner of the world for the better through his actions, and through the things he said. He could strive to live every day as a new one.

He didn't know if he could return to the Mojave, not after the way he treated the people who only tried to help. Would they take him back? Would they forgive him? And if they did, how awkward would the entire thing be?

Boone shook the thoughts from his head, and pressed onward. Though the future was uncertain, he had a peace with his life that would carry him through anything that came his way.

* * *

><p>Canyon Runner still guarded nothing more than a gate of dust and weeds; no new captures had been brought in since the Legion left the Mojave. Becoming a messenger was a step down from his previous position, but he would never question the orders of Aurelius of Phoenix, one of the Legion's greatest centurions. It was an honor and a privilege to be part of something so grand, to be a part of Mars' holy army that brought civilization and temperance to each conquered tribe.<p>

They were all taught to never question, but with the rumors going around, Canyon Runner couldn't help but question, even if he kept it to himself. He had no issue with his direct superiors, but the rumors stated that there was an issue at the head of the Legion. Over a month ago, whispers began that Caesar was having an affair with one of his officers. Canyon Runner found the whole thing curious, but dismissed the rumors altogether because they were so farfetched. After all, Caesar Lanius was the voice of Mars, and he was exemplary as a follower of Mars.

But within a week or two of hearing and dismissing that came the rumor that it was Vulpes Inculta, and that the guards outside heard every second of what they did. The praetorian guards knew; it was proof that Canyon Runner found hard to deny. But it still didn't add up to him, because Vulpes wasn't like that, even if the Butcher reportedly was in his past life. So Canyon Runner contented himself with the idea that they were rumors created from a confused state that wasn't ready to let the Son of Mars go. He couldn't blame them.

Then, the rumors that he heard a week ago almost destroyed him. It started as a whisper, and then grew to a murmur of discontent as the Legion told that it wasn't an affair, that the Butcher was keeping Vulpes as his personal concubine. Vulpes was completely unwilling, but was unable to say no, for fear of being executed.

It was a rumor so vicious, so terrible, that Canyon Runner knew it had to be true. Nobody would dare speak of Caesar in such a manner, unless it was the truth.

He wondered how many other Legionaries struggled with the immeasurable burden of such things, and wondered when someone would stand up and demand justice. Were they all scared, like him, or was he the only one who believed such things?

The worst part was that the praetorians knew. They stood guard while this blasphemy took place, and did nothing. They were sworn to protect Caesar with their lives, and that duty must extend to saving Caesar from himself. Were they that scared of the Butcher? They were praetorians, men who were tested against incredible odds in battle, an elite group of warriors.

Perhaps, they thought it was out of their hands, that they had no say in such matters. But such things were a poison, spreading from a wound and radiating outward.

It couldn't end well, and Canyon Runner awaited the wrath of Mars.

* * *

><p>Vulpes lost count of the number of pushups he had done; all he knew was that it wasn't enough to exhaust his mind. He could wear his body down to the point of near-collapse, but if he couldn't escape his thoughts, it was no use.<p>

There was nothing for him to do outside of train or read, at least, nothing he would want to do. Perhaps, he could make himself fat to intentionally spite his captor. But the idea wasn't appealing, especially with his vanity on the line. Besides, it was his duty to keep government property – himself – in optimum working order.

Vulpes sighed and rolled over, the wood of the floor from his room cold against his back. For a moment, he lay there, trying to think of the last time he slept in his own room. It took a second to realize that he didn't know, and the thought didn't surprise him as it should have. He didn't know what he felt anymore, didn't know why he bothered to better himself, especially when he did nothing with his life.

And despite everything, he was desperately, achingly lonely for Six. If he wouldn't be caught, if they wouldn't send assassins after him, Vulpes would leave in a second for the Mojave. That way, he could see Six again before he ended up hanged for war crimes. It would be a death befitting him, the thorn in the NCR's side.

If he continued on his current path, he would wither away into old age as a slave. There was no glory in chains, no glory in the invisible leash and collar that tethered him to the Butcher's bed. Vulpes asked himself what he could do to remedy the situation, and only one option became clear: he had to control his own destiny, live and die by his own terms.

If he could just work up the emotion to bother to roll over, open the drawer, and find his pistol, he would be set. But Vulpes didn't want to move from his position on the floor; instead, he waited for it to happen on its own.

It was a foolish thought, and he repeatedly called himself a coward. Was he, though? His conclusion was that four feet was too far to reach, and all he wanted to do was sink into his own skin until he fell out, through the floor and down to hell where he most certainly belonged.

Vulpes finally rolled over and sat up. He didn't bother to stand and scooted across the floor to the drawer that kept his prized revolver. It had been a gift from Caesar, granted to him after he completed his first mission as a Frumentarii by betraying the Twisted Hairs. The pistol signified his determination, his willingness to do anything within his power for Caesar, no matter how much it tarnished his reputation. This day, it would signify his determination once more.

His arms felt heavy and drugged as he opened the drawer and felt around for the weapon. He could open his mouth, suck it and bite down on it, in the same way he wished to bite the Butcher so many times.

It wasn't there.

Panic arose in the pit of his stomach, and it was quickly squashed by relief. He didn't have to go through with his personal dare. Glancing to the side, he saw his ripper in the corner of the room. Vulpes considered it for a moment then thought better of it. If it wouldn't be incredibly painful, then it would be a viable option from the sheer messiness of it all, an inconvenient explosion of flesh, blood, and entrails most assuredly ruining everything in the room.

But then, some poor woman like Siri would be forced to clean it up. The thought of her, covered in his remains was strangely appealing, and he ignored the inappropriate reaction as he sunk to the floor and thumped his head against the wall.

For a while, Vulpes sat with his back against the wall, enjoying its coldness against his bare skin. His pistol was missing, and there was an incredibly short list of people who would have the audacity to do such a thing. One was the Butcher himself, but Lanius had no use for guns.

The only others that would dare steal from him were Marcus and Crassius. As Vulpes realized that it was them, he whispered their names aloud, his breath coming out in a choked sob. It was the sound that Oliver, the winner of the Nipton lottery, made when he realized he had been granted his life. Vulpes was as pathetic as that whiny vermin, apparently as equally ill temperate that he would cave under the pressure of his life, and yet be relieved when he wasn't man enough to end it.

Vulpes sank further, his cheek against the floor, and shook as he realized that someone – two someones – gave a damn enough to remove the possible instrument of his undoing from his possession. He wasn't alone, didn't have to go through this alone. And perhaps, they could save him from this hell.

In the meantime, he had to gather the strength to carry on. He had to fight against this indignity and remind Lanius why he hated him in the first place; to the Butcher, he was an obnoxious, spoiled brat. This would be his mission, and it would give him something to do with his time.

Vulpes would start with doing sit-ups until he threw up, which would take a long time. After that, he would come to bed, stinking of sweat, and give Lanius an open-mouthed, unwashed kiss. He would needle the man with as many things as he could think, until Lanius thoroughly lost interest. Laying back on the floor, he began to plan his new, deadly hobby.


	46. Chapter 46

A/n: I would have updated sooner, but I was having issues logging in.

Warning: This chapter contains m/m sexual content in the third section

* * *

><p>Boone finished helping the tribes prepare for war by successfully carrying out reconnaissance missions throughout Zion. His path took him through White Leg territory, and he saw the enemy up close. He even went so far as to steal the White Legs' war totems, an action that would demoralize and weaken the enemies' resolve.<p>

There was only one thing left to do; he had to talk to Daniel about going to war with the White Legs. It hadn't been going well, not with the other man's insistence that the tribes leave Zion.

"Fighting seems like the practical solution," Daniel sighed, "but I'm going to tell you; there's more at stake."

"I think Joshua's right," Boone said, "We should fight the White Legs. This land isn't theirs, and it can't belong to the Legion. A message needs to be sent."

Daniel's expression twisted into a full-blown scowl, the dark circles under his eyes accentuating his lack of sleep. It was one hell of a war face, but what Daniel fought over was peace. With his knowledge and determination, he would have made an excellent medic.

"What Joshua wants is more than an attack," Daniel protested, "he wants a slaughter. Is that an acceptable consequence, if it means holding on to this valley? Maybe there is no place in this world left for mercy, but even if it tramples me into the dust, I will never accept it. And I will never condone it."

"If that's your thing," Boone shrugged, "but you can't just be neutral all the time, or else you'll be running forever."

He didn't understand it what Daniel was trying to say. Defending oneself from attack was important, and sometimes, that meant pursuing the offensive. It meant doing some things that might not be good; it meant sacrifice. If the White Legs surrendered, it would be all the proof he needed to show Daniel. If they didn't, it would still be proof, because that would mean that they would have become Legionized even before their assimilation.

He heard the faint crunch of stones behind him as someone approached. Boone turned around to see Joshua Graham, his pistol holstered at his side.

"I know Daniel doesn't approve of this," Joshua said, "but this is the only way that the Sorrows will be able to stay in Zion. You and I will lead a group of Dead Horse warriors and Sorrows hunters into Three Marys from this position. Our objective is to find the White Leg leader, Salt-Upon-Wounds, and see that he doesn't escape. Show no quarter to the White Legs; this is an extermination."

Boone nodded and followed Graham through the water toward the shore of the wide river, then up a hill. They were silent as they made their way through a patch of trees. Boone froze as he saw movement between the branches and readied his weapon. On the ground, he saw the legs of the person moving and quickly identified them as a White Leg. He moved his scope up to where he figured their head would be, waited until they appeared in a gap between the leaves, and fired. There was a shout nearby and shots rang out from Joshua's gun. It was silent once again.

As quickly as they could, they made their way out of the trees and through a long patch of grass. There was no path, but it seemed as if Joshua had the way memorized. He didn't falter as he followed the man who had saved him from himself, and took note of where Graham placed his feet down the steep incline that led toward a path. To his left was a bridge that he had disarmed with Follows-Chalk, and Boone realized that they had cut off a large chunk of pathway that was most likely being patrolled. Graham led him forward on a worn path that led uphill to an old campground. There was no evidence that the camp had been disturbed in a long time; there were no ashes even in the fire pit.

It was a short walk down toward the river again, where they crossed and took another pathway up to a ranger substation. Boone eyed the taboo markings on the building for a moment then shook his head. Their direction led them toward the water again, and Graham stopped to point up at a ridge.

"We need to get up there," he murmured, "let's go around and find the path."

Boone was shocked by the small amount of resistance they had met so far, but he got the feeling that they would find opposition soon enough. This area of Zion was White Leg territory, if the paintings on the cliff walls were anything to go off.

Graham led him through the water around the side of the cliff, and up a narrow portion of the river. The cliff walls were high above them, and Boone kept an eye out for an ambush from above. Rounding a corner, he saw a skeleton with tomahawk embedded in its skull. He thought nothing of grabbing the weapon and slipping it into his belt for future use.

With his new weapon, Boone followed Graham around another bend in the river. The sight of Dead Horses greeted him, and Boone gave them a quick nod. Together, the group made their way onto a split toward land, then down a large, long hill toward a dock, which was guarded by White Legs.

Boone didn't need to lift his weapon as the Dead Horses dispatched the unaware White Legs. They turned right at the dock and waded into the shallow water again. It led them upstream to a fork, a broken sign telling Boone that they had made it to their objective. This was the Three Marys.

Joshua showed him the correct fork, and they sneaked up the narrow river, past bloody, painted canyon walls. Around a bend, the river opened up to reveal the surprise attack. Dead Horses and Sorrows fought against the startled White Legs. Blood washed downstream from fallen warriors on both sides, a strange sight that the Mojave soldier hadn't seen before.

But there was work to be done, and Boone followed Joshua's directions up a path that wound around the large rocks in the river.

"Go first," Graham ordered, "with your tomahawk."

He nodded and pulled his weapon from his belt. If they ran into opposition, then the close quarters would make his rifle tough to use. Joshua knew that Boone had decent hand-to-hand training, and adapted their strategy for the situation.

Boone stepped up the path, taking note of Graham's position further back. If trouble came, he didn't doubt his partner's aim in the least.

The ground shook beneath Boone's feet and he turned around once again to see the path crumble. Graham had been left behind, and Boone cursed, knowing that he had to press on. Joshua would find a way to the top; he had to meet him there, and possibly secure the position.

Boone continued up the path and found a cave. He was glad that the raid took place at night; his eyes wouldn't have to adjust to the dark. Sneaking in, Boone was immediately confronted with the sight of the enemy. Three White Legs jumped up from their camp to attack him, but they were far enough that he could shoot them quickly.

He pressed deeper into the cavern and rounded a corner to see another camp. Thankfully, this one was abandoned. Boone passed the bedrolls and lanterns on the ground to come toward the cavern's exit.

Outside, the sound of fighting reached his ears. Boone glanced down to see a Dead Horse hold a captured White Leg at gunpoint. The enemy was on his knees, his hands behind his head in surrender. It was good to see the tribes waging war properly.

His pride turned to horror as the tribesman brought his tomahawk down on the surrendered captive's skull. All around him, his allies cheered, as if it was good to kill an enemy that gave up.

Was this what Joshua had been teaching them? This wasn't how it was done. You had to be better than your enemy was, you had to have a conscience about what you did, or you would become a monster just like those you were trying to kill.

When he first came to Zion, Boone knew that if a Legionary surrendered to him, he would have shot the bastard, hands-down. But that wasn't what he had been taught; it wasn't how the NCR did things. After a dose of reality and sobering the hell up, Boone learned that his brand of justice wasn't right. He remembered the principle that if an enemy surrendered, he had lost the will to fight, and by extension, quit his cause.

The White Legs were quitting, but the Sorrows and Dead Horses weren't. Boone had to get to Joshua, and fast. He had the feeling that something bad was going to happen.

* * *

><p>Years ago, after Lanius had passed out during his fight against the Legion, he'd awoken over a week later to the curious, sad-eyed face of a beautiful man that quickly backed up when he saw his eyes open.<p>

Later, he asked Caesar if that man was his servant; Caesar replied that everyone was his servant. That was before Lanius learned that the desire of another man was dissolution. At that time, he had wanted that pretty, blue-eyed man, and he was sure that Vulpes knew it from his outright avoidance of being alone with him. Lanius desired, practically fawned over the much younger Frumentarius in those days.

And as he glanced over at the man sleeping in his bed, a disgusted part of him realized that maybe he still fawned.

He wasn't sure what to call this; his nights were filled with forbidden passion from one of the most exotic creatures he had seen in the wasteland. But he hated this man, hated the way he made war, and hated the way that he constantly needed more of him.

His mouth descended to Vulpes' throat, rousing him from a deep sleep. Glassy blue eyes squinted in Lanius' direction. He was held captive by that gaze, those pink, parted lips, and his pale, almost colorless skin in the moonlight.

Mars blessed him for leaving the dam by giving him Vulpes as a reward; he was sure of it.

He showered the Fox with his kisses, reveling in the way he tasted and how he responded. Gloved hands wound their way through the Butcher's hair and drew him closer.

The gloves; Vulpes never removed them. It was strange yet sexy, somehow. Those gloved hands would grip the headboard later, holding on tightly as he mounted him like an animal. He had him hours ago and found himself wanting more.

This time, Vulpes cringed and pulled away, making him frown. He wasn't like this usually; he was never assertive with him, and always played the part of a female perfectly. Not understanding this sudden coyness, Lanius pursued him further, only to have the object of his affections roll over to show him his scarred back. The Butcher scooted closer to plant kisses on the side of Vulpes' neck.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Vulpes seemed to squirm with the question, leading him to believe that something was troubling him.

"Tell me," he ordered.

"I'm sore," Vulpes replied, his expression flat.

"I can help your back," Lanius shrugged.

The man next to him rolled over, sighed, and bit his lip.

"No," he insisted, "I'm sore."

Vulpes gave him a pointed look, and what he was hinting at fell into place. Cringing, Lanius supposed he had been too rough, but it was difficult not to be, especially with Vulpes needling him as he had for the past month. He let it go, however, and was content to lay by Vulpes' side. Blinking, he wondered when he had changed so much to allow something like this.

And what was this anyway?

Lanius had many questions, none of which had answers. His life changed from the tumult of war to the thrilling sensation of discovering a new lover who shared his passion equally. It made him think of things he had buried long ago, things that he thought he had no need of.

"What is love?" he asked.

Vulpes stared straight up at the ceiling, as cold, impassive, and beautiful as the moon.

"Chemical reactions," he shrugged, "in order to ensure that offspring have the best possible chance of survival with two caretakers."

Lanius didn't like that answer. It was so much more than that. After all, they would never have offspring together.

"And two men?" he quipped, propping himself up on his elbow.

"Chemical mismatch," Vulpes replied, shrugging again.

He didn't believe that, not for a second. But to decide what love was, he supposed he had to experience the feeling.

When they laid together, his soul reached the pinnacle of completeness. Lanius was confident that there would never be another who would see his soul bared before them as Vulpes did. Was this what it was supposed to be?

Was this love?

* * *

><p>Vulpes was pleasantly surprised that his lie worked. Physically, he could handle more, but he just wanted to sleep well that night. He was tired of being woken up in the middle of the night for their not-so-private affair.<p>

Many knew of what was going on behind closed doors, and Vulpes supposed it was only a matter of time before he was thrown out and strung up for being unnatural, not that he was. Or at least he didn't think so. Perhaps, he was having some sort of strange psychological reaction to being essentially forced into relations that he wasn't naturally inclined to partake in. The confusion of his abuse could have come back, making him think that he wanted things that he didn't want. Or, did he?

Vulpes supposed it felt good, but he wasn't sure. It didn't matter much anymore; his opinion of what he wanted or didn't want to do wasn't important. The only thing that mattered was making sure that he pleased the Butcher well, so that he would remain useful. An incredibly stubborn part of Vulpes didn't want to die just yet, not after the pistol incident.

"I've been pleased," Lanius murmured into the back of his neck.

Vulpes almost retorted that he hadn't; after all, since this affair started, he hadn't been given a single orgasm. The thought almost made him ask for one, but he realized with a start that he was turning into a catty bitch. He already spent part of his private time viciously beating off, attempting to recall the fading memory of Six's taste and touch. The entire situation made him nauseous.

"Name anything," Caesar continued, "and I will grant it to you. One favor."

Exhaling deeply, Vulpes stared at the ceiling in thought. He had been granted the favor of Caesar, something that not even the first Caesar had done, and Vulpes was surprised that he was that good of a lay for a man. Then again, he had started out on learning how to please a man; so perhaps, it shouldn't have been a surprise.

But what would he do with this favor? His rank, privileges, and authority had been completely stripped, and he was in no position to be able to do something for the Legion, other than warm Caesar's bed at night. Being used in such a way brought back memories that he had worked hard to suppress. It then hit him what he should do with the favor.

"Investigate the instructors," Vulpes said.

Lanius shot him a strange look, and he knew he would have to explain exactly what he meant. He stared into the eyes of the man who he lied to on a daily basis, if only to keep himself alive.

"Investigate them," he clarified, "see who is a pedophile, and have them punished painfully."

"That's oddly specific," the Butcher replied.

Vulpes had not a scrap of dignity left, and supposed that it didn't matter who he told about what happened when he was a child. Nothing could shame him anymore.

"When I was a child," he sighed, "my instructor molested me."

He heard Lanius' breath catch, and almost felt guilty that the other man was concerned. It felt odd, with Lanius holding his hand between both of his.

"How?" he asked.

Vulpes stared at the ceiling, feeling vindictive.

"The same way you lay with me," he replied. Vulpes tried to keep the smirk off his face, but it was difficult.

The Butcher turned him around and held him tightly, whispering placating, Latin nonsense into the back of his neck. Even then, Vulpes felt the sickening urge to push back against the man to try to coax him into a sexual encounter. He began to shake as he realized that he had been conditioned from a very young age to respond sexually to normal, non-sexual situations. The kisses on his cheek spurred him on, and Vulpes turned around to stun the Butcher with a consuming kiss.

The other man hesitated for a moment before surrendering to his demands. Vulpes ignored the thoughts screaming inside his head, telling him to not encourage this, and instead began to wantonly rub himself against Lanius.

There was a chuckle against his lips and Vulpes lashed out, biting, sucking, dominating and completely overwhelming his partner. The tables were turned as he rolled on top of Lanius and began to hump against him like a dog. It was undignified, but all he cared about was getting off as quickly as possible.

Instead of punishing him, the Butcher humored him and began to move as well, the cycle of perversion that Vulpes had been taught long ago swinging violently back into focus. He did the same thing when he was younger, in an attempt to relieve the strange burning that felt so good.

"I can't get over how huge you are," Lanius grunted.

It was the same thing that countless whores and slaves said. In that moment, Lanius was the bitch; Vulpes was king. Blood roared in his ears, the thrill of dominance bringing him to what he craved.

And as it blossomed and exploded in his mind, Vulpes realized that the ten seconds of ecstasy that he so loved had become an addiction not unlike that of those across the river.

He was dissolute; wickedly, wickedly dissolute.


	47. Chapter 47

A/n: I apologize for the delay with this update. In between being sick, having two major project deadlines, and having to put one of my gerbils down, the past week has been hell. Hopefully the extra length of this chapter will make up for it.

* * *

><p>There were voices up the path, some whimpering, and another one that was unmistakably angry, and unmistakably Graham. The path twisted up around a section of cliff, and Boone rounded the corner cautiously to see Joshua holding four of the White Legs prisoner. Fires burned around the canyon, making Graham's shadow appear enormous. The other shadows flickered, and Boone's was small in comparison along with the rest. Gunshots sounded along the river as Boone made eye contact with the man who had helped him find a new life. His gaze was so intense, and he had to look away.<p>

The captives pleaded in their tribal language, and while he didn't understand their words, he understood what they were trying to communicate. He had no doubt that Joshua knew what they were saying, despite the fact that the pleading came out between sobs. Graham was listening, wasn't he?

The wind shifted and Joshua executed each tribal with a cold swiftness that had been tempered by years in the Legion. One man remained; he wore a decorated mask, his outfit much more lavish than that of his dead counterparts. This had to be the White Leg leader, Salt-Upon-Wounds.

"We warned you at Syracuse," Joshua growled, "but still, you persisted. You took advantage of us at New Canaan to drive us out, and like the dogs of Caesar you are, you followed us to Zion. And now you stand on holy ground, a temple to God's glory on earth. The only use for an animal in our temple is sacrifice."

"Outman!" the tribal pleaded, "Kuna-man mad! He kill all White Legs. You talk. You stop."

Boone stared at the bleeding corpses of the tribals that surrendered. Had Graham actually listened to their pleading? He knew that Joshua knew their language. If he intended to execute them, why did he listen to them?

It hit him that perhaps, Graham savored their pleading before finally shooting them. This wasn't a defensive offense; it was a genocidal purge, not unlike the Legion's brand of war.

"Christ," Boone swore, "this isn't what I signed up for."

"Don't listen to this, thing," Joshua scoffed, "His cries are those of a mad beast caught in a thicket. He gave no mercy to my family, and I will give none to his."

He wasn't sure if he could approach Graham, not with him so angry. This wasn't the way the NCR operated, and it wasn't how Boone operated either, at least, before the booze. You took prisoners in, questioned them, determined their war crimes, held a trial, and then came up with a punishment.

"You've already won," Boone said, "Look around you. There's no need to kill him. You know the Legion never surrenders; he's obviously not dedicated to his cause."

Joshua refused to lower his weapon, staring at the tribal with an intensity that Boone had seen in his own eyes before.

"He has a debt to pay for what he's done," Graham replied, "and I've come to collect. And so, he's chosen to cower like an animal."

Boone almost let him take the shot, but decided to continue. If Joshua wanted him to let go of his anger, then he wanted him to do the same.

"If what you believe is true," he frowned, "that a man pays for what he does on earth, that he is reminded daily of his sins, then he'll pay for it for the rest of his life. The tribes don't need to see you do this."

Graham's arm lowered the pistol by an inch, the first indication that Boone's words actually had an effect.

"I want to take from them what they took from me," he hissed, "I want them to suffer. I want them to all die in fear and pain."

Boone nodded and shifted his rifle on his back.

"I get ya," he replied.

"I want to have my revenge," Joshua continued, "against him. Against Caesar. I want to call it my own, to make my anger God's anger, to justify the things I've done. Sometimes I tell myself that these wild fires never stop burning, but I'm the one who starts them. Not God, not them. I can always see it my mind, the warmth and the heat. It will always be a part of me, but not today."

Joshua lowered his pistol, and Salt-Upon-Wounds shifted like a nervous animal.

"Go!" Graham barked, "Get out of here. Go back to the Great Salt Lake."

The war chief didn't bother to wait as he collected his wits and skittered out of sight. Graham holstered his pistol, staring down at the bodies of the men he had executed.

"Thank you for staying with me," he sighed, "I couldn't have done this on my own."

"I couldn't have either," Boone replied.

Joshua let out a quick chuckle and motioned toward the path. They had to get the Dead Horses and Sorrows to stop; the battle was won.

As Boone took point, he marveled at his mentor's anger, and his incredible capacity to forgive. It had been easy for Boone to talk Graham out of killing everyone; the White Legs hadn't done anything to him, and barely resembled the Legion that they so longed to join.

But the Legion was another thing entirely. Had he been in the same position, had he been directly confronted with a Legionary who surrendered, he would be hard pressed to find the capacity to forgive.

* * *

><p>Lanius hoped against all hope that the ongoing investigation of the Legion's instructors would yield no results, but he wasn't so naive to think that Vulpes' instructor had been the only pedophile in the Legion. Sickness was everywhere, and it was his sworn duty to combat it.<p>

If he was to combat filth in the name of Mars, then he had to set himself right with Mars. This brought about a huge conflict for the Butcher. He didn't want to let his lover go, not after learning Vulpes' darkest secret. Lanius was positive that he was the only living soul that knew of what happened, and he wished to honor such trust.

Perhaps, his sin with Vulpes was meant to be; it would usher in a new era of safety for the Legion's young, something that would bring the favor of Mars.

Lanius scoffed and stared down at the dirt path that led away from Flagstaff. He kicked at a stone as he told himself to quit lying. He was living in dissolution, and there was no excuse. Perhaps, his sacrifice would appease Mars. Perhaps, Mars would see that he was doing his best.

The brahmin bull that he led came peacefully, going so far as to allow Vulpes to perch on its back like a strange concubine priest. It was oddly symbolic, seeing how the Fox tamed the wild bull. Even now, Lanius couldn't help but admire his beauty.

Vulpes had been training harder, and it showed. He gained a small amount of bulk, finally just barely filling out his armor instead of swimming in it. Under Lanius' order, Vulpes allowed his hair to grow into a wispy, black shag. It stirred in the breeze, along with his newly acquired cape –another order, another present – making him appear princely.

But Vulpes looked toward the west, his sad eyes even sadder than he had seen before. It was a look that Lanius only saw when Vulpes didn't know he watched, and it made him incredibly suspicious. Then again, ever since the night Vulpes told him about his instructor, he had withdrawn into himself. That entire night had been strange. Vulpes initially refused any sort of sexual interaction, only to turn around and initiate it after telling him about his instructor. It had been the first and only time Vulpes initiated a sexual encounter.

He found himself wondering what Vulpes wanted. Men were not meant to be kept as breeding servants; so therefore, their arrangement had to be mutual. He wondered why Vulpes seemed so sad when they were lovers. Vulpes' haunting words from the night before came back, that his instructor laid with him the same way that Lanius did. He found himself wondering why the admission sounded so personal, so intentional.

Lanius shook his head to clear his mind of thoughts. They were at the spot that had been prepared for the sacrifice.

Ordering Vulpes down from the bull, he led it to the place where it was to be slaughtered. With his own hands, Lanius prepared a fire for the animal. Vulpes stood off to the side and eyed the sacrificial knife warily. Sighing, the Butcher realized that the other man didn't trust him to not kill him. He didn't take their sin lightly, and it was a daily choice to disobey the laws of Mars to be with him. Couldn't Vulpes see that?

"Take off your clothes," Lanius ordered.

With wide eyes, Vulpes backed up. He appeared ready to run at any given second, and it angered Lanius. They shared too much to have this mistrust present.

"Unless you want to have your clothes covered in blood," he growled, "take them off."

He watched as Vulpes began to remove his armor, a faint tremble in his hands. Lanius had seen it before, when they laid together. He had always credited it to desire, but there was nothing desirous about the situation they were in.

Lanius realized in horror that it had to be fear.

In a moment, the Fox was unclothed before him. He stared down at the ground and appeared more like a stricken child than a seductive creature playing coy. This wasn't the answer that he wanted. But, he hadn't done the sacrifice yet. Perhaps, this was a falsehood thrown in his path.

A nauseating fear wound its way through his stomach as Lanius fought with the idea that he was probably lying to himself, and was seeing the truth for the first time. He grabbed Vulpes by the wrist and dragged him over to the bull. With more force than was necessary, he slung him down on his knees in front of the animal; the little whine Vulpes released only spurred on his wrath.

Lanius grabbed the sacrificial blade, and when he turned back, Vulpes was staring toward the west again. He ignored it as best he could as he began to ask for Mars to honor his sacrifice.

Reaching forward, Lanius slit the throats of the bull. It roared in pain, yet made no move to leave the man who had enchanted it. The bull bled all over the Fox, coating his white skin in crimson. Lanius hoped that this sacrifice would cover his sin, and that when Mars looked down, he would see the sacrifice instead of the taint. The Butcher didn't want to give Vulpes up.

The brahmin bled out and collapsed, and Lanius prepared a torch. He grabbed Vulpes by the wrist like a child and led him away from the sacrifice. Praying again, he lit the bull with the torch, watching as the flames slowly consumed it.

"Maybe," he sighed, "maybe Mars will honor this sacrifice." He turned to look at Vulpes once more.

Seductive eyes pinned him to the spot, studying him. Dark lashes fluttered to a close then opened again, blood-covered lips forming into a questioning pout. Vulpes gave him a look that seemed to ask if he was done yet.

"This is important," Lanius grumbled.

Vulpes shrugged irreverently and leaned against a nearby boulder, unmindful of his nudity. There was that look again, the brazen, childish pout that made Lanius war with himself whether to slap him or ravish him.

He eyed the man in front of him, and decided that the latter option was definitely what he wanted. Sacrificial blood looked delectable on the Fox. Their eyes met, and there was that look again, the one that promised immense pleasure.

"Leave," he ordered.

Vulpes shrugged in indifference and turned to grab his clothes.

"No," Lanius growled, "leave now, before I do something I'll regret."

There was a pause as Vulpes warily turned around and headed back toward Flagstaff. Lanius refused to watch him leave and instead, waited as the sacrifice slowly turned to ash.

* * *

><p>Vulpes didn't know what was going on with the Butcher, but he wasn't about to push a man who wielded a sword as large and heavy as an older child. He also knew that look all too well, and if he didn't do as Lanius said, a stiff back would be the least of his worries.<p>

So he walked toward Flagstaff, completely naked, save the blood that began to cool in the desert breeze. There would have been no shame, except that he had obviously left with Lanius, and had obviously lost his clothing in their time alone. If the rumor machine wasn't running already, it would now. Part of him was ashamed, but that shame was overruled by the satisfaction that whatever people thought would be a lie. He didn't do this – any of this – because he wanted to.

The path that led toward the city was thankfully worn enough that his bare feet wouldn't have any trouble. But, it was little consolation, given that the path led straight through the center of the settlement. Vulpes was reminded of something the dissolute called 'the walk of shame', and found no small irony in the fact that he was forced to publicly show his sexual affairs in the same manner that countless women did when they left his hotel room on the Strip. Perhaps, he was reaping what he had sown. At the very least, he could take comfort that pregnancy was impossible from his coerced union with the Butcher.

As he stepped foot into Flagstaff, Legionaries and slaves alike turned to stare. Most looked on in disgust, assuming the half-truth of Vulpes' personal affairs. Some looked at him with pity; this was the worst. He didn't want pity, didn't want to be seen as pathetic when he had clawed his way to the top of the Legion. Still, there was an occasional glance of repressed desire from a select few, a gesture that gave him an unexpected confidence.

Lust was something he could understand, something he could associate as positive, as opposed to pity or disgust. He was attractive, a fact that had been impressed upon him at a very young age. This wasn't a walk of shame. The thought gave him the mental fortitude to continue on his way toward the old mansion. Just a couple of steps more, and he would be away from pitying eyes.

The praetorians did their best to ignore his naked presence, and Vulpes relaxed as he wandered down the hall to his room. He was three doors away when he heard the whistle. There was only one man he could think of that would do such a thing, and Vulpes knew that he couldn't just continue on his way.

Turning around, he saw that his hunch had been correct. Marcus stood in the hallway, his arms crossed and his cheeks tinged pink.

"That outfit is fetching," the guard chuckled, motioning toward the blood that covered his body.

"I'm about to undress," Vulpes drawled. He nodded toward the door to his bedroom and wondered if he could leave.

Marcus blushed darkly, making Vulpes curse his stupidity. He had unintentionally flirted with the guard. Then again, he had always been an opportunist, in particular when it came to sexual situations. Vulpes briefly toyed with the idea of continuing with Marcus, but grimaced at the thought of attempting to establish what he would and wouldn't do with a man when willing. Such things were better left doing with strangers and he had lost his opportunity to experiment when he crossed into Arizona. Besides, even something as simple as a quick kissing session could get him killed by either Lanius or Crassius, especially the former.

"Don't let the Butcher catch you looking at or talking to me like that," Vulpes frowned, "you know how he is with his property."

Before Marcus could reply, door opened in the hallway, and Crassius emerged from his room. He mumbled a quick greeting, glancing around the hallway for others in confusion.

Vulpes didn't want to waste time with explaining why he said that he was property, and quickly excused himself. He wondered where the hell he had gotten in life if standing around naked and covered in blood was less embarrassing than his day-to-day existence. In fact, it was tolerable in comparison.

He shut his door behind him, wishing that the Butcher would tire of him.

* * *

><p>Six dreamed of an overwhelming sadness, an aching loneliness as vast as the great river in front of her. She had to leave this place, to get away from what was bothering her.<p>

Was she really alone, though? She had friends, people who stood by her side no matter what. But she didn't know herself anymore, and had made decisions she never knew she had been capable of. The feeling that she had betrayed and destroyed people that cared about her made her nauseous, and in the end, she ended up sacrificing in an attempt to right the wrongs she had done against them. For some, it was enough. Others hated her, leaving her and refusing to speak to her again. Everyone knew her, for better or for worse. And she had everything that she could possibly want. Six had the adoration of many. She had all kinds of fancy weapons, armor, a wonderful pet, a large, luxurious suite, and a few friends who loved her dearly. Even though she tried her best to be content with life, it felt empty. After all, what did it mean to gain the whole world, yet lose her own soul?

The river sprawled out before her, a thin film of ice on top of the melting water. For a moment, she enjoyed the smell of spring coming to the wasteland, something that she had missed for the longest time. Fed by the clean water from the river, new grass poked up through the ground in some areas, tiny shoots of hope among such desolation. The world was awakening slowly, reminding Six that life would go on as it always had, even without her around. When she thought about it, she wasn't important, not in the least.

Lone and pale, the sun fought against the winter's clouds, barely shining through the haze in the sky. Like Six, it was by itself in the world. Though the clouds were nearby, the sun was so different from them that they couldn't keep it the best company. The clouds would come and go whenever they wanted, but the sun would remain a constant fixture.

Wandering sounded like a good idea. She could leave any time she wanted, and never come back. With the vastness of the wasteland, it would be nearly impossible for people to track her. She could disappear for good, and never come back. And she would go west; she knew what was to the east would be nothing more than a dead end.

But something was keeping her there, rooted to the spot. In an instant, Six found that she couldn't move her arms at all. Something unseen drew her down to the ground, forcing her to lay against the sandy shore. Panicking, she thrashed in an attempt to escape. The land wouldn't let her go.

There was a whimper as Six rolled over into something large, hard and warm. It moved slightly from the impact but didn't care to budge. Crunching noises drifted toward her, and Six opened her eyes.

She was home. She wasn't where she had been in the dream. Somehow, the bed sheets managed to tangle her up, and Six set about the task of setting herself free. To her right, Rex laid in the bed, chewing noisily on something brown.

It was a pinecone.

Crying out, Six attempted to extract herself from the tangle of sheets in order to save one of her few, precious possessions from the cyberdog. She scolded Rex as viciously as she could, and the dog jumped off the bed and wandered toward the door. He stood and looked at her, smacking his tongue from the tiny bits of pinecone that were still in his mouth.

Through teary eyes, Six saw Vulpes' destroyed present. She looked over to where she usually kept it, and saw that the needles were on the floor, along with the single, tiny pinecone that was left. Shaking, she gathered it up and placed it on a higher shelf, away from where Rex could reach.

She turned back to look at the dog who had broken her heart. He stared at her, tail wagging, eyes bright and happy. Six opened the bedroom door to let him out and quickly shut the door behind him. There was a whimper on the other side as Rex realized that he was alone. Metal paws began to scratch at the door while Rex cried to be let back in.

Six heard someone out in the suite try to distract Rex, and she was grateful. Shaking her head, she turned to the mess on the bed. Her tears renewed as she picked up the destroyed present. No, Rex didn't know any better, but it was as if he had killed Vulpes himself.

She realized with a start that she didn't even know if Vulpes was still alive. Six didn't know if she had the heart to throw away the destroyed pinecone; it was one of the few things she had of a possibly dead man who had loved her. Six wondered if there was anything she could have done differently to have gotten him on her side. She wondered just how much he would have done to be with her.

Even gone, Vulpes still confused her.

* * *

><p>There were corrupt instructors in the Legion, at least twenty. It was much more than there should have been, but Vulpes wasn't surprised. Restrictions often made people find even more heinous things to do, in the case of those who were ill tempered. The Legion was meant to stamp out ill temperament with hard work and the discipline of war, and the instructors were to be exemplary of the Legion's ideals.<p>

He glanced over toward Lanius, catching him staring again. Vulpes supposed that even the mightiest could fall; even the most exemplary and devout of men could fail to follow their own code. He wondered how he was able to stay above such reproach, and concluded that he rode a line of moral mediocrity so lukewarm that no matter what he chose, it wouldn't often offend others. Perhaps, he had everything figured out, but he suspected not.

A smile would usually appease someone, and it made his job easier. All of his women told him that he had a nice smile, something he found humorous. After all, how often did one find a nightstalker's grin to be attractive? Vulpes knew he had the head of a snake, and the predatory instinct of a dog. Perhaps, his mother had been bitten by one when she carried him.

Shaking his head from the tribal nonsense thought, he watched as Lanius addressed the instructors. Evidence had been gathered, yet none of them knew why they had been brought before Caesar himself. Maybe they supposed that they would be recognized for their service, but such a thing was rare in the Legion. A man did his job because it was his job, not because he was to be rewarded. It instilled a sense of duty as opposed to a sense of deserving.

"You have all been selected for certain traits," the Butcher started, "and you probably wonder why the Praetorians are all present. After all, there shouldn't be the concern that loyal instructors of the Legion's sons would come after Caesar himself."

"But you are trainers of tactics as well," he continued, "and you see that they do not flank me. They are behind you, preventing your escape."

A few of the instructors glanced at each other in worry, as if there had been a mistake. But Vulpes smirked, knowing that there wasn't.

"Your secret has been found out," Lanius announced.

A gulf of silence followed his declaration as even the praetorians shifted in curiosity.

"You've been caught," he explained, "with evidence of sexually abusing your charges."

Lanius didn't have time to continue before an angry murmur started from the guards. In front of the door, Marcus, Crassius, and Ossian glared at the instructors, clenching their fists within their powered gauntlets. The rage was palpable from them, and it gave Vulpes an incredibly strange sense of safety. He was an adult; he didn't need to be protected. But it'd been a long time since he felt close to his Legion, and their anger warmed him as well as filling him with a longing for everything to be the way it was months ago.

One of the instructors knelt down before Caesar. He shook as he stared down at the floor, unable to stare the righteous fury of the Butcher and his praetorians in the eye.

"I am ill," the instructor said, "My actions shame me. Though I have tried to stop, I cannot. I deserve punishment. I want it to end. I welcome death."

Vulpes stared dispassionately at the man before him. He tried to work up some sort of emotion that would be proper for the circumstances, but he felt nothing. He should have been angry, maybe even should have felt pity.

His molester wasn't among them. But, even if he had been, would it have mattered? It wouldn't have changed anything that happened in the past.

"Vulpes," Lanius called, "What say you?"

He supposed a shrug wasn't the proper answer, but it was all he had.

"Do what you want with the lot," he replied, "I have nothing in mind."

Vulpes quickly excused himself from the proceedings and tried to ignore the concerned gaze of the praetorians as he squeezed past them and out of the room. He would have questions from them as well as Lanius, but he had come to a depressing conclusion:

No amount of torture would make him feel better.

* * *

><p>"I've been thinking," Craig announced.<p>

Joshua looked up from cleaning his pistol. He had been thinking as well, and his conclusions, though uncomfortable, were necessary.

"I need to go back," he continued, "make things right with people that I hurt. Doesn't matter if they want to listen or not; it's the right thing to do."

Next to them, Follows-Chalk perked up at the mention of the Mojave. Graham knew he would have a hard time dissuading the scout from trying to follow Craig.

"Whatever you feel led to do," he answered, "I will support. You've come a long way."

Craig smiled sadly, and Joshua couldn't help but return the sentiment. Even though he had done so much to help Craig, the young man had done so much to help him as well. It proved that one was never too old to learn, and that God would teach lessons in mysterious and incredible ways.

"I've been thinking as well," Graham said. His eyes met Craig's expectant ones and he sighed.

"Though the battle with the White Legs has given the tribes safety," he remarked, "it has also confused them. I have been respected for a long time, but this respect has come at an immeasurable price. Instead of God, I am revered. I am looked to as the sustainer of their faith, instead of God."

It was an upsetting admission, one that filled him with shame.

"He must become greater; I must become less," Joshua declared, "I will not become a false prophet. This has convicted me that I must go."

Craig wasn't religious, but it was his sincere hope that the soldier would understand. Follows-Chalk shifted uncomfortably, visibly upset by what he said. But the scout didn't say a thing, proving that he had learned some temperance with his speech.

"You're welcome to come with me" Craig nodded, "I don't know what people will say to me, and it'd be helpful to have someone around that understands."

He was hoping that Craig would say that.

"When do we leave?" Follows-Chalk asked, pursing his lips in defiance.

"Tomorrow," Joshua shrugged.

The scout gasped in surprise, and had no doubt expected to be rebuked for insisting on going. But Graham knew that Follows-Chalk was an adult; he had been through much with Craig, and knew that it would be good for him to come along on their journey.

They would need a pack just for bandages, but Joshua wasn't deterred. He knew that Craig and Follows-Chalk wouldn't mind his condition, and he knew that he could trust them to help.

For the first time in years, Joshua Graham felt a heaviness lift off of his soul. He wanted more of it, and hoped that going to the Mojave would give him a taste of the peace that passed all understanding.


	48. Chapter 48

A/n: Hello. I had another one, so I figured I'd update :)

**WARNING: The second section of this chapter contains rape. Do not read if you are sensitive.**

* * *

><p>Nobody understood why they left, not when the battle against the White Legs had been so successful. There were many tears as the Dead Horses and Sorrows said goodbye to two of their own, as well as the outsider who had helped them. But he hadn't been deterred from going his own way, not when God was calling him elsewhere. The tribes would survive without him, and possibly flourish. That was his desire.<p>

For the first time in years, Joshua Graham had a light heart. Not even his bandages could hide his smile as he and Craig followed Follows-Chalk's careful footsteps out of Zion. It was slow going; there were many hills and cliffs, forcing them to weave a zigzag of a path across the park. But, with each passing hour, the land changed and became more barren, signaling their entry into the desert.

The land here was still hilly, but much drier. They had left the river to follow an old cattle path, as per their plan on the map. Boulders littered the ground, offering a small amount of shade from the high desert sun. Occasionally, a gecko would skitter away from them, proving that there was life in this seemingly barren land.

Joshua continued onward, taking careful note of how he felt. The threat of dehydration was very real for him. It was hot with all of his bandages, and from the burns, a large portion of his sweat glands were gone. So, he used other signs of dehydration as a gauge. Exhaustion was one of the first, followed by headache and blurred vision. If he got to the second two, Graham would be in trouble.

They continued on for a few minutes as Joshua began to pant. When they were in Zion, it was easier. He had had constant access to water, and the path had been shaded for the majority of the walk. He would have to stop to rest soon, as he was falling behind his companions.

Craig glanced back at him and slowed down in order to speak with him. The sniper must have noticed his condition; Craig looked at him with a frown.

"You okay?" he asked.

Joshua slowed down a moment and tried to catch his breath. Ahead, Follows-Chalk stopped, waiting for them to catch up.

"The river was nice," Graham sighed, "this desert isn't easy on me."

Craig blinked at him in confusion from behind his lightly tinted sunglasses and shifted his pack. Follows-Chalk appeared confused as well, and Joshua chuckled. These two were still full of energy, ready to get to the Mojave as fast as possible. Unfortunately for them, they would have to be patient.

"The fire destroyed my skin," he elaborated, "and I am without the majority of my sweat glands."

The sniper's eyes widened in surprise and he quickly led him to a tiny patch of shade. Craig handed him a canteen of water, and he took a long gulp, watching as the sniper stood guard like a dog. Admittedly, Joshua felt guilty that he severely slowed their progress; he felt old next to his traveling companions.

"Doesn't help that I'm fifty-six," he grumbled, looking off to the side.

"What?" the sniper chuckled, "no way."

"I helped found the Legion," Joshua replied, "Does my age really surprise you?"

Craig cringed and looked to the side, along with Follows-Chalk. Apparently, it surprised them both.

"I used to be like both of you," he sighed, "I thought my father was invincible. But like everyone else, he aged. Learning that the man I looked up to was slowing down hurt."

"You're not rickety yet," Craig scoffed, "and your aim is dead on. It's the sweat that's the issue, not your age."

Rickety? He hoped to God not. That was for people in their seventies, at least. But things did wear him down quicker than they used to, and he supposed what little hair he had left on his head that hadn't been burned off was probably gray. His hands would ache off and on from being overused for the majority of his life. The worst part was that the scripture he carried around was becoming harder to read. Perhaps, when they made it to the Mojave, he could get reading glasses from the Followers.

"If you say so," Joshua chuckled, "just keep in mind that you're traveling with a disabled, middle-aged man."

The sour look on Craig's face told Graham that he didn't like thinking about him in that way. But that was the truth of the matter, and it was better to let it out than to not say a thing.

This was one reason why he made the difficult decision to leave Zion. Each tribe member looked up to him, treating him as if he was some sort of mythical being. Under the mysterious bandages was a human, one that made a grave mistake against the White Legs. While the fight itself was the right decision, his motives had been selfish and despicable. He had been confronted head-on with his sin, that inside, he was still a genocidal warlord, a sinner that needed the forgiveness of God. Joshua felt that he earned his disability, and would use it as a tool to teach others not to fall into the same traps that he did.

God's patience and forgiveness ultimately led him to leave his home, in order to live a quiet life. He was called to live the rest of his days in gentleness, to minister to and guide the young men that God had placed in his life.

Joshua was certain that the Mojave was full of others just like Craig. There were people that had strong issues with addiction, as well as anger and regret. It was exciting, knowing that he could potentially make a difference in someone's life. His smile returned as he looked out at the open desert. God was calling him to that place, and he would answer.

* * *

><p>The night was just beginning, but this was starting to feel more like a chore as time passed. Ever since the investigation, Vulpes had been distant. Lanius assumed that this was due to him having to revisit some painful memories, and he remained respectful of such things. He made sure to be gentle with him at night, paying extra attention to making sure that Vulpes was especially pleased from their unions. Still, it wasn't enough for his moody lover, and he began to wonder exactly what Vulpes wanted.<p>

The day he sacrificed the bull returned to his memory often, and he wondered why Vulpes had been so fearful. He had remained fearful for a while, until Lanius presumably coaxed him out of his shell with pleasure.

Lanius made his way up Vulpes' torso, kissing each rib before coming to a small, pink nipple. A deep sigh came from the man beneath him, and then a little squirm of what seemed to be annoyance.

"Your mustache tickles," Vulpes complained, sighing again in frustration.

The Butcher chuckled then moved toward his neck. He was caught off guard when Vulpes rolled over to show him his back.

"Okay," Lanius huffed, "then what do you want?"

There was no reply. Not to be dissuaded, he moved his hands to the front of his lover's chest and began to roll his nipple with the pad of his thumb.

"This?" he asked.

"No," Vulpes intoned, staring at the wall.

Frowning, he moved his hand lower down his abdomen. He brushed his hand against Vulpes' astonishingly soft manhood, and felt his stomach clench in worry.

"This?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even.

"No," came the forceful reply.

Panic unfurled in his gut, as he told himself that this wasn't happening. Vulpes was just being moody, was maybe just sore, maybe just not in the mood.

His hand drifted down toward his ass and he bit his lip. He wouldn't say no to this, would he?

"It's just our game," Vulpes murmured, "and if I tell anyone, they're going to crucify both of us. Nobody would understand; what we have is so special."

Vulpes was limp against his arm as Lanius hauled him up to kneel on the bed.

"Do you want this?" Lanius asked, whispering in his ear. He was ready and aching, slowly entering without waiting for an answer.

"No, Amado," Vulpes chuckled, "never."

The Butcher recoiled in horror at hearing another man's name from his lover's tongue. Vulpes turned to glare at him over his scarred shoulder.

"If you didn't want it," Lanius growled, "you should have said no. You should have said something, before this went too far."

"What difference does it make?" he sneered, "you do what you please anyway."

Lanius snapped his hips forward roughly in an attempt to force Vulpes into wanting him. He gripped his hips tightly as Vulpes lay limp, his face buried in the sheets. In between violent thrusts, a muffled sob broke out. They were both shaking, each for different reasons.

He laid with Vulpes, the same way his instructor did.

Lanius withdrew and flipped Vulpes over. He wanted to see him, to look him in the eyes and demand that he say yes. With a start, he entered Vulpes again and started roughly pounding.

Hunching over, he bit the nipple that he had been denied earlier. Blood trickled into his mouth, and another, louder sob came from the man beneath him. Lanius looked up into the tearful face of the man he had fallen for and snarled. He wanted Vulpes to be angry, to lash out as he did before, and fuck back with an equal ferocity.

But Vulpes simply laid there, gasping and crying like a child. Infuriated, Lanius leaned over to grab the Fox's neck. He gripped tightly and pushed down, cutting off the other man's air supply. Vulpes didn't fight back, not even on the verge of passing out.

Lanius released him at the last second, listening to Vulpes gasp for air and let out a loud moan. A quick glance down told him that being choked turned him on.

"Do you want this?" he pressed. He was so close to the edge, and needed just one word to tumble over.

"Never," Vulpes gasped.

His orgasm hit him ferociously, causing his vision to blacken. After a few seconds of panting, he recovered to remember what Vulpes said.

Enraged, he threw him off the bed. The man he called his lover didn't bother to stand and instead, laid on the floor. He cared for him, gave him so many things, and even went so far as to overturn his Legion's entire training division with a pedophilia scandal. Lanius tortured and executed those men in Vulpes' name, hoping to wash away some of his pain. But everything had been thrown back in his face.

The worst part was that Vulpes was right. Had he said no the first night, he wouldn't have believed him and would have done as he pleased regardless. Lanius was guilty of touching Vulpes against his will. His wonderful world came crashing down around him.

Had Vulpes been a normal Legionary and kept his head down, this wouldn't have happened. Had Vulpes not seduced him, it wouldn't have come to this. Lanius would have never cared for him, would have never fallen for his charms and his pitiful past. This was all Vulpes' fault.

Not caring that they were both naked, Lanius hauled Vulpes up and dragged him toward the door. He slammed it open to the praetorians' shock, and threw Vulpes out into the hall.

"Kill him," Lanius shouted, "have him scourged and crucified at the far end of town for his lies."

Like always, the guards did not question. They dragged Vulpes down the hallway, never to be seen again.

Lanius felt his heart hitch at the thought, but quickly squashed it. He would do as he pleased. He was Caesar.

* * *

><p>Vulpes was led naked toward the farthest end of Flagstaff. Behind him, a guard carried his clothes and personal belongings, which were sure to be divided up among the officers at the outpost. His throat was raw, his nipple bleeding, and his ass incredibly sore, but he knew that those were minor pains next to what he was about to face.<p>

The few sentries that were on night duty looked up as they approached. He recognized some from Cottonwood Cove, and from their startled expressions, they appeared to recognize him as well. A praetorian motioned one of the guards over.

"Orders are to scourge and crucify," he said, "give him a degenerate's burial."

One of the sentries held him at gunpoint while another got the man who would be in charge of the scourging. The door to the building nearby groaned open and shut as Vulpes' executioner came forth.

He was fine with dying, and looked up to see his executioner in the light of the torches. It was Kanut. His former second in command clutched the whip in his shaking hand as the execution order was relayed to him. This was a shame; Kanut didn't deserve to have to put him down like this. But he supposed that nothing was fair in the grand scheme of things.

Vulpes stared down at the ground as he was led away from camp to the post. Ropes wound around his wrists as he was bound in place. All the months of misery he endured culminated in this, and he was more than happy to meet the end head-on.

Kanut stood before him, his eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"How would you like it?" he asked.

Vulpes shook his head and sighed. He knew what Kanut was asking. Kanut didn't have the experience to scourge him within an inch of his life and make his crucifixion last a short time. Vulpes wasn't going to get Kanut in trouble for messing up a scourging and accidentally killing him.

"Whatever works," he shrugged, "it'd be nice to see the sunrise."

It was a lie; nobody wanted to stay alive on a cross for that long. But Kanut would do as he said out of respect.

He disappeared from Vulpes' view; it was time. Vulpes heard the clattering of the cat of nine tails behind him, and the quiet, mournful desert. His position at the post had him looking west. He clenched his fist inside his glove, the only thing he wore. Six's hair was still there.

The whip descended to his back in a loud crack, and Vulpes let out a gasp of pain. As soon as it disappeared, it returned with a vengeance. Blood trickled down his back and around to his abdomen, then down his legs to the ground. He attempted to block out the feelings by remembering Six and Caesar, the people in his life whom he loved ferociously.

Each crack of the whip forced him out of his memories, and soon, he was unable to remain silent. The next hit made him cry out, and Kanut paused.

"Business is business," Vulpes groaned, "hit me, or it will be you next."

The whip quickly made contact three more times before he was done. Gasping, Vulpes attempted to catch his breath, but it felt as if there wasn't enough air in the world to satisfy his lungs. He clung to the familiarity of the feeling, and hoped that the rest of his death would feel predictable.

More sentries arrived to untie him and drag him toward the cross farthest from camp. Before they strung him up, Kanut moved in to grab his hand and stare him in the eye.

"I will always respect you, grandson of Mars," he whispered, his hand shaking as tears finally spilled down his cheeks.

Vulpes blinked, and Kanut was gone. He felt hands on his arms as the sentries climbed the ladder. Ropes cut into his arms and ankles while he was secured to the cross with a couple of sharp tugs. Satisfied with the strength of the bonds, they left him alone.

It was surreal how everything happened so fast, and Vulpes panted in pain as he stared to the west. He didn't have any idea how long it would take for him to finally expire; this crucifixion was without nails, and it could take over a day for him to bleed out or die of thirst.

Through the sound of blood rushing through his ears, he faintly heard footsteps from behind his cross, accompanied by a metallic sound. The scent of a cigar drifted up toward him.

"Aurelius," he greeted.

Vulpes' voice was barely a whisper from being strangled, but he knew that the sharp centurion heard him. Aurelius walked in front of the cross and eyed him coolly, cigar in hand.

"Would you like me to eat you?" he chuckled, "The Legion considers it an insult, whereas my tribe would have considered it an honor."

Vulpes supposed that it didn't matter what he wished; Aurelius would eat whatever and whomever he pleased. If he had been capable of shrugging, he would have.

"Do whatever you believe in," he replied.

Aurelius chuckled, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the night air. The hawk-nosed centurion looked strange without his helmet, and Vulpes supposed that he had gotten dressed in a hurry just to see what was going on at his post.

"How did this happen?" Aurelius asked, "Did you use your teeth or something?"

Laughing hurt, and it came out as a dull series of gasps. Rumors spread like a plague to the far corners of the Legion and crawled up the ranks until everyone, slave and free, knew what happened between himself and Lanius.

"Hardly," Vulpes replied, "I finally said no."

There was a quick pause as Aurelius flicked some ash from his cigar.

"Really?" he said, "Well, if anyone asks, I didn't hear the part about throwing you in with the degenerates. You'll be burnt to ash like a true Legionary."

A long silence fell over the pair, and Vulpes decided that waiting for death to take him was rather dull. As if reading his mind, Aurelius crossed his arms and spoke up.

"Want some poison?" he asked, giving him a sideways glance.

"No," Vulpes replied, without hesitation, "I want to think."

"Fuck that," the centurion snorted.

It went quiet again, as they had nothing to say to each other. Vulpes didn't know Aurelius that well, save the fact that the man was a cannibal. He watched as the centurion stared at a distant point on the horizon in thought, a serious look on his face. Aurelius nodded to himself as he made his mind up about something, and then turned to look at Vulpes.

"I'll send someone to guard you," he nodded, "a man shouldn't die alone."

With that, Aurelius of Phoenix and his cigar left him alone to stare toward the west, waiting for death.


	49. Chapter 49

Vulpes Inculta looked like hell itself had chewed him up and spat him back out. The ropes that bound him to the cross were tight, his arms and legs an unnatural hue from blood loss. He had been strung up naked at night at the farthest corner of Flagstaff, as if the execution were to be hushed. Vulpes was executed as a commoner and would likely be buried in a mass grave; it was a degenerate's burial. It was as if the Butcher was trying to hide something, to not acknowledge the execution of one of Caesar's truest.

The pendant of Mars' favor hung from Vulpes' neck, glistening faintly in the moonlight. He was so pale, his body strung on the cross so that individual ribs could be counted. Hipbones jutted outward, covered by extremely thin skin. Hollow eyes stared out of their skull; there was no flesh to his cheeks, no sign of fat under his chin. Had he always been this thin? Was it dehydration?

Vulpes deserved more; he deserved to be Caesar in place of the blighted evil that masqueraded as a man. The divine messenger of Mars hung on a cross. Seeing this innocent man die poisoned Canyon Runner's soul.

Canyon Runner glanced around his post. There was nobody around and he knew what he had to do.

As he grabbed a ladder and a dagger, he told himself that he was a man of honor, a man of integrity and unwavering morals. The dagger sawed at the ropes binding Vulpes to the cross, legs then arms so Canyon Runner could grab him and haul him down the ladder. It was incredibly precarious; normally, they just dropped the bodies. But Mars granted him the strength and balance to carry out his task.

Canyon Runner laid Vulpes at the foot of the cross and watched as he let out a raspy cry of pain. It was likely that the lash marks on his back had been reopened, and that the blood returning to his limbs was excruciating. Vulpes had marks on his neck, marks that appeared as if he had been strangled by a man with large hands. One of his nipples looked tortured, as if it had been harshly bitten. There were also bruises on his hips that appeared as if he had been held down with his face to the floor.

The inter-connected pieces of a gruesome puzzle began to appear before Canyon Runner; Lanius was putting his pet down, and the rumors of months of coerced sodomy had been true.

This wasn't his Legion. That animal wasn't his Caesar. There was no glory in this.

Canyon Runner disappeared into the outbuilding nearby, grabbing Vulpes' armor and as many satchels of healing powder he could find. Finding two bottles of water, he tied the black cape into a makeshift bag and stuffed it all inside, along with some hastily gathered rations.

Not wanting to appear suspicious, he ran as quickly as he dared out of the building toward Vulpes, who sat against the base of the cross. His eyes were closed, his head upturned to the sky as he panted, making Canyon Runner wonder if he would cross the river then and there. But as he approached, Vulpes opened his eyes – very aware – and examined the cape full of provisions that he carried. Only the most intense training could have given Vulpes the strength to retain his awareness under such conditions. The frumentarii were truly a breed apart.

Canyon Runner set the cape down and rummaged through the clothes that had been sent afterward. Nothing of Vulpes was to remain after his execution and it was fortunate indeed; spare clothing would have been hard to come by, especially in his size.

With the scourging, Canyon Runner knew that he would have to help the man dress. Vulpes sat as still as possible while he put his boxers on, then the pturges, socks and boots. The coyote mantle came next, along with the goggles. It wouldn't be helpful at night, but when the morning came, it could potentially save him. Besides, moving his arms to put it on could reopen his wounds in a few hours, and he needed what little blood he had left inside him.

He helped Vulpes stand, and felt the immense strength in his thin arms as he pulled the man up. He handed the bag and Vulpes' ripper to him, prepared to help with arming him. Canyon Runner was amazed as Vulpes tucked the ripper into its spot at his side; the man was still standing, and only a light pant indicated that he was in pain. He didn't forget the healing powder, and gave two of the satchels to Vulpes immediately.

"There are seven in the bag," he whispered, "two for now, to take the edge off."

"Three," Vulpes rasped, "give me three."

Three was an overdose, but Canyon Runner wouldn't question Vulpes. As the Legion's top agent, this man was well versed in remedies, and their effects on the body. He pulled a third satchel out of the bag, handed it to Vulpes, and watched as he sucked it up without a second thought. A quick sip of water later and he was ready to leave.

"Thank you," Vulpes nodded, "I'll try not to die out in the desert."

Canyon Runner frowned and shook his head.

"You won't," he protested, "You've survived this before. My death will not be in vain."

Vulpes mustered the strength to give him a quick smile before walking stiffly down the path that led to the west. He smelled something burning in the dark behind him, a smell that was like that of some of the new captures. Shaking his head, he stood back at his post at the base of the cross. There was nobody out here who would dare smoke tobacco. After a moment, the scent disappeared into the desert wind. Perhaps, it was a sign that Mars would carry Vulpes safely toward the dissolute.

Canyon Runner said a prayer for the messenger of Mars, knowing that before sunrise, he would likely be executed for his treachery.

* * *

><p>His heart hammered in his chest, slamming itself into his stomach. His mouth felt sour as he walked to the edge of Flagstaff, toward the buildings that housed the group that used to occupy Cottonwood Cove.<p>

With each step he took, Marcus made bargains with Mars, that this was somehow a lie. He and Crassius would stop their affair, he would make a sacrifice every day, he would live the rest of his life out in celibacy, if only the cross would be empty and without blood when they arrived.

He and Crassius passed by the whipping post, and Marcus began to shake. It was covered in fresh blood, a sign that what he heard had been true. Vulpes was scourged, and hanging on a cross. Mars had abandoned them.

He gripped the borrowed revolver in his hand, his eyes misting with tears. Never had there been a man truer to the Legion, truer to Caesar, and never had there been a truer friend. His trust in the Legion, in Lanius especially, had been violated beyond repair.

Aurelius of Phoenix approached them, cocky as usual, and reeking of dissolute smoke. Crassius seemed to know that he wasn't in any mood to converse, and decided to address the centurion, asking where Vulpes had been hung.

"He should be at the far end," Aurelius nodded, "I've got a bleeding heart recruit watching him. Figured he needed some toughening up. It's the farthest cross; the one you can't see from here." The Centurion gave them a sideways glance before sauntering off.

They wound their way through the quiet camp, up the dirt path that led to a row of crosses lining the old highway. A lone sentry stood at the base of the farthest cross, which was empty.

Hope and worry twisted inside Marcus, making him walk faster toward the man. Where was Vulpes?

The recruit saw them quickly, his whole demeanor nervous. Marcus wasn't sure how to reassure this man; after all, two praetorian guards were headed straight toward him. After exchanging a quick 'ave', Marcus struggled to find the proper way to address the obviously scared recruit.

"Where is he?" Crassius asked.

Marcus cringed at the question, which was sure to make the man even more nervous.

"I do not know," the recruit answered. He pursed his lips and refused to look at them, his hands balled into fists.

Crassius nodded in understanding as he stared at the dots of blood on the trail that led away from Flagstaff and into the desert. That particular path led to the west, toward New Vegas. Marcus smiled and sighed; this man had let Vulpes go, even though the price for doing such things was a slow, torturous death.

"All things indicate that you helped him escape," Crassius nodded, "you might be able to point us in the proper direction."

The man frowned and stared straight ahead, refusing to answer the question.

"What is your name?" Crassius asked.

"Canyon Runner," the recruit replied.

"This is important," Crassius said, "very important, Canyon Runner."

Marcus sighed. Why wouldn't Crassius just come out and say it? His full intent was to find Vulpes and make sure that he got out of this situation alive, even if Crassius wasn't. He wouldn't abandon Vulpes to the desert, not after months of sitting by like a coward while the Butcher had his way with him.

"Vulpes saved our lives," Marcus hissed, "and my honor demands that I return the favor."

Crassius nodded in agreement, and it relieved Marcus that they had solidarity on the issue. They had, after all, gone so far as to steal Vulpes' pistol from him. Marcus glanced down at the weapon in his hand and sighed; they had to return it.

"Let's just follow the trail," Crassius frowned, "he couldn't have gone far, and we can carry him to his destination."

They stepped forward, and Marcus glanced back at Canyon Runner.

"Get some provisions for us," he said, "and yourself, unless you want to stay here and wait for death."

The shocked recruit nodded mutely and jogged back toward the closest building, returning in a moment with a bag full of food and water. Canyon Runner shouldered the bag and looked at them expectantly. He was coming along, and this pleased Marcus; it made no sense for a man of courage to be executed for doing the right thing.

With a smile, Marcus tucked Vulpes' pistol into his belt, taking one last look at the bloodied cross. He would see to it that Vulpes stayed alive.

* * *

><p>Vulpes stumbled onward, barely registering the fact that he was pretty damn sure he had been followed by someone. If he could just make it into Vegas territory, he would be okay. Someone would find him and think he was a runaway slave. He needed to walk west along 40, and then pick up 93 toward New Vegas. The journey was almost entirely through Legion lands, and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. In Mojave territory, he would be equally likely to run into someone who took pity on him as someone who would want revenge. In Legion territory, he wouldn't run into anyone or anything that could help him. It was a three to four day walk from Flagstaff, if he didn't take any breaks.<p>

He didn't know how long he had been walking; the healing powder confused his perception of time. But he had to keep going.

Vulpes had to survive at all cost.

"Ave," a voice called behind him.

He wheeled around, clumsily drawing his ripper and reopening his back in the process.

It was Marcus, followed by Crassius and the man who had let him down. Why did the man's name escape him? He met him before at Cottonwood Cove. Their figures doubled and blurred for a second before converging.

"True to Edward," Vulpes slurred, nearly falling over.

"True to Edward," Marcus echoed, "we brought more healing powder, but you'll have to kiss me to get it."

Healing powder wouldn't do a damn thing to keep the infection down, but it would work until he was able to see one of the Followers. He would clot. It would reduce the pain. And now that these three were with him, he stood a chance of making it.

But the odds were still against him, and Vulpes figured that he could at least see Six one last time before he died.

"You really want a kiss for that?" he asked.

The praetorian approached him with a smile and grabbed the makeshift bag that he had been given at the start of his journey.

"If I said yes, would you do it?" Marcus chuckled.

"Why the hell not?" Vulpes replied, "I'm overdosed as is."

Before Marcus had a chance to react, Vulpes crushed his lips against the guard's. Tongues clashed violently in a sloppy, desperate kiss. The healing powder made him feel like his lips would melt into Marcus' while numb tingles radiated from the tip of his tongue outward. He poured everything, every trick, every ounce of his experience into that kiss. Vulpes wanted to make sure that the guards would assist. His dignity was no longer intact; he would do anything to ensure that he would get to New Vegas.

Vulpes wrenched his mouth away, wincing when he reopened a wound on his back.

"Holy damn," Marcus panted, "I had no idea you'd actually do that."

Crassius followed with a mumbled 'me neither' and a furrow of his brow.

Vulpes wondered why they were so surprised; his life was on the line, and if they asked for it, he would give each one of them a blowjob to ensure their full, undivided cooperation. They were his only chance.

Off to the side, the recruit stared at them in horror; as if he had never seen two men kiss before. Then again, Vulpes supposed that he hadn't, and he couldn't help but laugh. He looked pointedly at the man before shaking his head.

"If you think that was lewd," he chuckled, "wait until you see the Strip."

Marcus had yet to finish blushing, so Crassius handed another bag of healing powder to Vulpes. He unwrapped it quickly, dumped it in his mouth, and swished it around with a gulp of water. It began to take effect almost immediately and he smiled lazily. He wasn't going to be able to walk, not with this much powder in his system.

Sensing his impairment, Crassius knelt down in front of him and offered his back.

"It will be quicker if you are carried," he said.

Vulpes straddled his back as best he could and waited to be carried upward when the praetorian stood. Crassius was large like Lanius; his hands felt terrifyingly familiar as they steadied his legs so that he wouldn't fall off.

Behind him, Marcus began to remove his cape, and then came forward to attach it to the front of Crassius' armor. It draped over Vulpes' shoulders and caught in the breeze, shading his back from the sun without sticking to the wounds.

Together, the group headed west as quickly as possible. And as Vulpes drifted into a deep sleep, he thought of Six, and hoped that he would get to her in time.

* * *

><p>For the first time in a long time, Six awoke with the sunrise. With a Nuka-cola in hand, she made her way to the cocktail lounge to check on her personal plants. She didn't sleep well the night before, and truthfully, hadn't slept well since she helped force the NCR and Legion out of the region. Sure, she knew that it was the right decision, but it didn't make that decision easier, nor did it make it feel good to do.<p>

A part of her wished that what the NCR said about the Legion had all been a lie, that what happened to Carla Boone was unacceptable in the Legion's eyes. But she had been to the Fort, and she saw the barefoot, malnourished slaves. No amount of wonderful, nice men she met from the Legion would make up for other people in bondage.

And, didn't they know that holding someone as a slave was wrong? Were they that brainwashed? She liked to think that Vulpes was a man of higher reasoning, that as a Frumentarii, he could see the good in the world as it existed. The new order to New Vegas proved it too; the most wretched and despised people could turn their lives around and make something wonderful of themselves. Jacob Hoff and Bill Ronte were proof of this. They were once addicts, and now, they helped Freeside grow and become a community rather than a collective of thugs, addicts and beggars.

Six looked at the time on her pip-boy and sighed. It was time for the leaders of the Strip and the elected individuals from the nearby townships to come for a meeting. They would be waiting outside the Lucky 38 for her, and she couldn't keep them waiting. The Courier said a quick goodbye to her plants, and then rode the elevator down to the lobby level.

The doors opened, and Six told the nearby securitron to allow the guests inside. After a quick weapons check, the representatives entered the casino area. Behind her, Arcade stood, a silent comfort for her. He told her that she was smart enough on her own, that she was thoroughly capable of setting up and conducting the meeting without his help, but Six still felt the need to have him nearby, just in case.

Each representative sat at a table, talking quietly to the others and staring at Six. The Courier glanced around, and figured that everyone was accounted for. Quickly, she called attention, and the room fell silent.

"Hi," she squeaked, giving everyone a little wave. It was unnerving, having so many people looking at her.

"So, this meeting has two purposes," Six announced, "The first is to establish who represents each area, and to have everyone get to know each other. The second is to discuss the immediate needs of each area, and come up with positive solutions for each issue."

"I want to be able to have meetings here in the casino," she continued, "because this is an open government that doesn't want to issue orders without having permission. We're not like other people. I'm a secretary, not a president."

She told each person to introduce themselves, as well as talk about which area they represented. The Courier knew everyone that came in to the meeting, and it made things easier for her. Soon, everyone was acquainted.

She eyed Trudy and Sunny from Goodsprings, and asked them to state any needs they had, since they were the first to introduce themselves. The old bartender smiled and nodded.

"No problems in Goodsprings," she said, "we're just a quiet little town, and nobody likes to bother us."

Six nodded then motioned for Johnson and Ruby Nash from Primm to speak.

"We've got an issue," Johnson sighed, "Powder Gangers, harassing the town."

"Would sending securitrons to the town make it safe?" Six asked.

"Wouldn't hurt to try," he replied, "I know everyone's short on man-power. That's how the Mojave got into the mess with the NCR and the like."

"We'll send eight," she nodded, "two to guard each possible entry point into the town. They'll go back with you both so that you're not harassed on the highway as well. Does this sound good?"

Ruby gave her a bright smile, and she knew she had said the right thing.

"Yes," Ruby said, "it's good to see that someone cares about the small towns, and not just the Strip."

Benny rolled his eyes, earning a glare from Marjorie, Julie, and the King. Quickly, the Chairman put his hands up in defense. Six was glad that she didn't have to call him on his silliness, and was particularly grateful that another leader of the Strip didn't approve of his attitude either.

The Courier motioned for Novac's representatives to speak. Cliff Briscoe nodded and stood from his chair.

"Novac is in hard times," he admitted, "one of our town's citizens, who lived there for years, appears to have been killed by raiders from nearby. We've lost the aid of one of our snipers, and the town feels uneasy about having less defenses. Problem is, we're not sure if a securitron will be able to tell a traveler and a raider apart until too late."

Six nodded; this was an issue. Though securitron targeting capabilities were good, Cliff was right. It would be difficult for them to tell a raider from a trader, which could end up in causalities.

"Is Andy still living there?" she asked.

Cliff nodded slowly.

"He's doing his best," he replied, "but it's difficult, even with two people on guard. They don't have time to do anything but guard and sleep, and that's no life for them."

To the Courier's left, Mother Pearl nodded.

"Novac is close to the Repconn site," she said, "if the town would be willing to trade parts with the Boomers, I think I know a few of our tribe that would like to live outside and help others."

"Sounds good," Cliff smiled, "I think a few folks with rocket launchers will help the townspeople sleep at night."

Six nodded. She was glad that they could work together to solve problems, rather than relying on the securitrons full-time. Things like this would make the different towns grow closer, and would create a feeling that they all belonged together rather than being separate.

Still, there was nobody from Boulder City there, and this concerned her. Then again, it had been primarily an NCR town; they were bound to hold grudges. Six still thought they were being silly. After all, they couldn't survive all on their own, and she knew they would cave eventually.

The rest of the meeting went well, with both Freeside and Westside saying that everything was fine for the moment. Six was so happy that Freeside was doing better; the area had been the inspiration for her revolution, after all.

This brought one last, unpleasant thing to the table. Six exhaled slowly, knowing that she had to enforce a necessary evil.

"Our securitron army is huge," she began, "and it's what keeps the Legion and NCR away. Such a large army of robots needs to be able to be maintained. We're going to have to collect a small amount of taxes, like House did on the Strip."

Everyone frowned, and Six bit her lip. She thought she sugarcoated it enough, but apparently not.

"The money will also be spent on infrastructure," Six added, "so it's not all about the securitrons either. We'll go with House's rate, since that was low. It'll be due once a year, during peak tourism season. That way, it'll be easiest on everyone."

While everyone agreed, Benny mumbled about trading one for another. Six wasn't so dumb to not understand what he was saying; he resented her. Whether it was because she got there first and he was jealous, or she didn't want total anarchy, she wasn't sure.

Regardless of his or anyone else's opinion, Six would do what was important and necessary for New Vegas, even if it made some people upset.


	50. Chapter 50

A/n: As always, thanks for the hits! I appreciate everyone's support. Please give a review if you have a moment :)

* * *

><p>He had straddled the back of the praetorian beast for an indeterminate amount of time, reminding himself of days long gone when he had been a determined streaker in the aspen forests of his homeland. He remembered removing his clothes and running through the woods until he wore himself out, making his father have to carry him back to the rest of the tribe. His mother would fuss over the mud and tangles in his wispy, brown hair, and smooth her thumb across his muddy chin. Vulpes didn't remember their names; he barely remembered that he had been called Foxpaw.<p>

His native tongue had been beaten out of him long ago, along with superstitions. Vulpes was taught from an early age that Caesar was the son of Mars, who was the only God worthy of worship. He spent much of his time as a recruit in respectful awe of the might of Caesar. It was a time when Vulpes never questioned.

After he became a member of the Frumentarii, things changed. He was an instant favorite of Caesar's, and, in a night of hours of conversation, the truth was finally revealed. That night, Vulpes lost a god, but gained a father. Being chosen to bear the secret of such an incredible man was an honor that Vulpes never felt that he truly deserved.

Following that, Caesar told him of his greatest plan. He wished to reenact history itself, to do to the NCR what Rome did to Greece. Vulpes unflinchingly followed this plan, knowing that the era it would bring about would be a utopia of great minds and great strength.

In the months following his return to the defeated Legion, Vulpes often wondered why Caesar never told Lanius about the plan. Perhaps, he knew the Butcher's desires, and wished to protect him from them by ensuring that the man remain pious. More likely, he didn't want to admit that he had a medical condition, and felt that his time wouldn't come so soon. This likely answer pained him; it was almost as selfish as suicide.

He never got to say goodbye.

The giant that carried him seemed to sense his discomfort and traced absent-minded patterns on his leg. Vulpes told himself that he had to relax, that Crassius meant nothing sexual from what he was doing. It was akin to petting an injured animal, to comfort and reassure. Still, it was too soon, and it bothered him immensely. But he didn't have the strength to protest, so Vulpes looked around at the desert for a distraction.

There was nothing to be seen along interstate 40, save the occasional bleached skeleton that was strung to a telephone pole. Vulpes wondered if the bones were the remains of his first mission, the one in which he betrayed the Twisted Hairs and crucified those who resisted. Some of them had to be, or at least, some of the bones at the foot of the crosses. He wondered why it had been so important to tell them that they would retain their cultural identity upon becoming part of the Legion. After all, that never happened to annexed tribes. And many tribes had been supposedly too proud to join on the terms that they would forget themselves, but they joined anyway. They always joined. It hadn't been his place to ask why they did it that way, but Vulpes found that the question of 'why' had come up in his life, especially in recent months.

Through tinted goggles, he saw the recruit keeping up with the praetorians. He couldn't help but be impressed, but Vulpes supposed that self-preservation was in the forefront of the man's mind. There was nothing for any of them back in the Legion, except for a painful death.

As Vulpes' vision blurred from blood loss and fatigue, he supposed he would get his painful death just yet.

Marcus slowed down to walk by his side and brought his face to his level, presumably inspecting him to make sure that he was fine. A large, gloved hand came to rest on his forehead, along with a fervent prayer to Mars that they would reach the Mojave without issues.

He prayed to a dead god of nothing, and Vulpes couldn't help but laugh bitterly at the thought that his friends were truthfully in a much worse position than he was. He highly doubted that they would handle the fact that their world was a lie very well, and he was compelled to tell them before they found out from the filth that drifted into the Strip from the wasteland.

"Before I die –"

"You will not die," Marcus interrupted, "Mars will see the plight of his servant, and you shall be rescued."

Vulpes pursed his lips and wished that they weren't so devout. It would make everything much easier.

"You are my leader," the recruit declared, "You are Caesar, the spiritual successor of the Son of Mars. It must be so."

Vulpes blinked and wished that the man could see his dumbfounded expression. What he said had been an extra dose of heresy, on top of the heresy of releasing him. But Marcus and Crassius agreed with him, insisting that he was to be Caesar.

"Okay," Vulpes sighed, "but before you decide, just listen."

The one sentence that he spoke made him run out of breath, and he wondered if he would be able to get through the entire explanation without passing out.

"Years ago," he explained, "Before Caesar became the man you knew, he was a Follower of the Apocalypse. He had been sent out by them to make contact with tribes and learn their languages."

"And he was awoken by Mars," Marcus interrupted, "and taught the Blackfoot tribe how to make war. Through the fire of war, the tribe was reborn as Caesar's Legion, and the Son of Mars took his rightful place as their Lord."

Canyon Runner stepped closer, a smile on his face.

"I am part Blackfoot," he declared, "and honored to be a descendent of those first awakened."

"You too?" Marcus asked, "I thought our faces looked similar."

Vulpes sighed in irritation. Most of the first generation Legionaries were part Blackfoot in some manner. The Blackfoots themselves had been a homogenous group of persons of Mexican descent, and many Legionaries of unknown origin that had brown to black hair and eyes and tan skin claimed Blackfoot in their heritage.

As they continued to talk about the Blackfoots, Vulpes strung an obscene amount of curses together, some Latin, some English, and some that he had picked up from various tribes that he deceived. He was getting very impatient, very quickly.

"Vulpes is trying to tell us something," Crassius interrupted, "it's important that we listen."

He thanked Crassius quickly then continued.

"The man known as Caesar was named Edward Sallow," he said, "and when he was with the Blackfoots, he came across a cache of books, one of which was written by Julius Caesar himself."

"He based his Legion on the Roman Empire," Vulpes continued, "and called himself the Son of Mars so that the tribes would believe him without question. He was not the first Caesar."

They stared at him in confusion, before Marcus nodded slowly.

"So, he wasn't the first Caesar," he concluded, "and he found these sacred books, and had his calling to succeed them as the next in line to Mars' glorious line of Caesars."

Vulpes sighed, knowing that he would have to bluntly tell them the truth. There was no getting around it. It was better to tell them and leave no doubt about the truth than to unintentionally lead them astray.

"It is more like he made the whole thing up," he said, "Mars was among many gods of the Romans. By taking on the name of the Son of Mars, he was able to get everyone to do exactly as he said without question. After all, it is easier to obey a god than a man. His plan was one of a single empire, capable of standing strong against the hardships of the wasteland."

His traveling companions were silent, making him regret his earlier frustration. He essentially told them that their entire world was a lie, that their religion and everything they strove to attain had been a fraud all along.

"How do you know this?" Canyon Runner asked, his voice small.

"He told me," Vulpes admitted, "Lucius was the only other who knew, besides Joshua Graham who was there at the beginning."

"They're dead," Marcus replied, "and you were the only remaining heir to the lie. Why did you tell us?"

He stared at him as if Vulpes was the one who had lied to him, and in some ways, he had. But Vulpes loved Caesar more than all others, and did everything within his power to make his vision come to pass. These friends were second only to Caesar, who was dead and, given the circumstances, wouldn't care if they knew. The dream was dead anyway.

"New Vegas has people who could know," he replied, "I would rather I tell you and be resented than to have some culus spout it off."

They all nodded silently, taking the news much better than he expected. Then again, Vulpes wasn't quite sure what he expected.

"I would have died for that man," Crassius noted.

Vulpes didn't have to see him to know that he was frowning. He felt the hunch in the man's shoulders as he was carried down the highway.

"So would I," Vulpes said, "So would I."

Another silence fell upon the group as they walked toward the west. He felt the need to say something, as he knew a taste of what they felt, since Caesar had told him the truth many years ago.

"I do not have the energy for a stirring speech," Vulpes rasped, "but this changes nothing. You are the same men you have always been."

Talking was a considerable strain on his damaged throat, as well as his energy levels. And if the sudden onset of chills was any consideration, then he undoubtedly had a fever, and thus, his wounds were infected.

Vulpes could take one thing off his list of things he needed to do before he died. The only thing left was to see Six one last time.

* * *

><p>There were voices in the dark, speaking of how difficult it was to see. Vulpes opened his eyes slowly to see nothing, and he wondered why it was so. Had he gone blind from the fever?<p>

"He's waking up," Crassius noted, "Better switch him while he's still able to move."

He felt the praetorian lower himself to the ground, and Vulpes attempted to stand on his own, only to collapse. But someone caught him before he hit the ground, a man who smelled of leather and oil. A large, metal hand encompassed his bicep, and Vulpes figured that it was probably Marcus. Still, he couldn't see.

"I'm blind," Vulpes announced.

He stared downward at the ground, wishing he could see stones or loose gravel from the road. A set of hands moved to his face, and pulled the goggles away from his eyes. Crassius stared him in the eyes, and he let out a muted "oh" as he realized that he wasn't, in fact, blind. The praetorians exchanged a worried look as they rearranged the capes; Canyon Runner held him up.

Marcus crouched down in front of him, the red cape looking like an inviting blanket. It took a moment for Vulpes to realize that he needed help getting on; he didn't have the strength to move forward. Strong arms gripped him and set him right. As soon as he settled, Crassius' cape was placed on top to shield his back from the wind. The group took off immediately afterward, with an efficiency that could only come from being top conquerors of the Legion.

Vulpes wasn't sure how long they had been traveling; he drifted in and out of consciousness for the majority of their trip. He hoped it wouldn't be much longer, because even praetorians could tire eventually.

There was a shift forward as the man carrying him gained a better grip on his leg.

"Even with training with packs," Marcus grunted, "you are certainly the heaviest I've had on my back."

"Dead weight," Vulpes replied. Carrying someone was always worse when they were limp.

There was a gulf of silence before Marcus spoke up.

"Please don't say that," he grumbled.

Vulpes couldn't nod, so he closed his eyes slowly. Even then, he found it difficult to reopen them. To him, his death was a certainty, whether they believed it so or not. But he did have the fullest confidence that Six would find something for them to do after he was gone; if she was the same woman he had fallen for.

"Joshua Graham is not dead," he mumbled.

"What?" Marcus chuckled, "I wasn't there, but he was covered in tar, lit on fire, and thrown in the canyon. He's dead."

"Nope," Vulpes replied.

He wasn't sure why he told them; Graham's existence meant nothing to them, since he was presumably in Zion somewhere. Perhaps, he figured that every secret he knew had to be passed on somehow. Vulpes listened to the praetorian grumble about his fever going to his head, and he didn't have the energy to laugh.

Vulpes knew many things, and it was up to them if they would be sensible enough to believe him.

* * *

><p>The night turned into day, and with it, Marcus had to switch. Crassius didn't think the recruit would be able to carry Vulpes, not since they had been walking for over three days with very minimal breaks. It was just as well; Vulpes didn't have the strength to hold on, and the recruit was much, much shorter than he was. If they walked uphill at a certain angle, he was sure that one of Vulpes' limp legs would scrape the ground.<p>

That didn't mean Canyon Runner hadn't been pulling his weight; the man carried all of the supplies nonstop, and it was a great help. Truthfully, the man kept up with their intense pace, and that was more than enough for Crassius to be impressed.

Marcus crouched down to unload Vulpes off his back, and Canyon Runner was there immediately to make sure that he didn't fall. The recruit then unscrewed a cap on a bottle of water and poured some into the man's mouth, gently telling him to swallow. Vulpes was barely able to comply, and Crassius wondered how long they had left. If they were far, he wouldn't make it at this rate.

Canyon Runner then opened Vulpes' mouth and dumped another bag of healing powder in, along with another serving of water.

Crassius stretched as best he could in preparation to carry Vulpes again. He was the strongest one, and knew at the outset that he would be the one doing most of the lifting. It didn't bother him; it was the least he could do for the man who had preserved him and Marcus from an unfortunate end.

As he knelt down, he didn't think of the tremble in his legs, nor the protest of his arms when he secured Vulpes to his back. They had to make it, at all costs. Crassius already failed to protect Caesar, failed to protect Vulpes from the Butcher, and would be damned if he failed again.

"We have to hurry," Crassius frowned, "he grows weak."

They were ready, and he took off at a quicker pace, even though it was uphill. He fought to reach the top, but pressed on at the sound of the man on his back whining in his ear. A substantial overdose of healing powder had done very little to help the pain, and his back had begun to take on the characteristics of meat that had been left out too long.

After cresting a hill, the group came across a sign for Hoover Dam in one mile. Marcus dropped behind to look at Vulpes once more.

"Hoover Dam is in one mile," he announced, "we're so close. Do not leave us yet."

With shared desperation, they increased the pace and forged their way up another incline. With each passing minute came one sign after another for the dam, until Crassius began to wonder if it had been a joke.

But their path wound its way through the remains of what had once been a great camp, and he realized that this was where the Legate and his armies had lain in wait to attack. There were holes in the ground where tent supports had been. In other areas, there were pits with stones where fires used to lay, with occasional cooking tools scattered about. As they walked further, they came across the plateau where the Butcher's tent sat, and Crassius' hope evaporated.

Hoover Dam lay below, guarded by hundreds of the robots who destroyed Caesar's great tent with barely an effort. He shook his head, knowing that their journey had been for nothing.

"It's over," Marcus murmured, staring out at the army of machines.

They could not sneak past them.

"Keep going," Vulpes whispered.

Crassius turned to stare at him in disbelief.

"Where?" Marcus hissed, "You can't reason with those things."

The recruit stayed silent as he looked out over the hill toward the dam that was so close, yet so unattainable.

"Logic," Vulpes coughed.

Crassius thought of what Vulpes said. Machines didn't have the ability to reason, yet they did possess a set of rules that would tell them what to do. The human at the top of their order was in control, and that human was courier Six. Perhaps, he was on to something.

"Let's try," Crassius nodded, "we cannot give up."

Marcus threw his hands up in exasperation and appeared ready to storm off.

"You saw what those things did," he quipped, "they destroyed Lucius and Caesar. Lucius!"

"And they would have wanted us to save Vulpes," Crassius continued, "We have to try. What's the worst that could happen?"

Marcus stared at him incredulously, and Crassius practically heard the man's mental tic-list of things that could go wrong.

"Kiss him," Vulpes whispered, "kiss him and shut him up. Let's go."

Chuckling to himself, Crassius grabbed Marcus' chin and moved in to steal a quick kiss. The effect was immediate and reassuring; sending Marcus into a blush so deep that it was highly visible on his tan skin. A quick glance back told him that the recruit was horrified, but there was nothing that could be done about it; he would learn sooner or later regardless.

Crassius took the lead while the rest of the group tagged behind, both stunned into silence for entirely different reasons. It didn't take long to reach the front of the dam, and the horde of machines that stared silently at them. He was about to ask Vulpes what to say to them when one broke out from the pack and wheeled forward to greet them. Its screen switched to one of a strange, dopey smile.

"Hello!" it greeted, "this is Hoover Dam, property of the free Mojave and New Vegas, but you probably know that already."

It craned itself to the side to peer at Vulpes, and Crassius grew suspicious. Perhaps this wasn't a good idea. He listened to a man who lost a considerable amount of blood, on top of having a raging fever.

"Mr. Fox," the bot continued, "might I say that you look absolutely terrible today."

The bot knew Vulpes. It introduced itself as Yes Man, and then said something that filled Crassius with both dread and relief:

"We've been expecting you."


	51. Chapter 51

A/n: Ooey gooey fluffy warning for this chapter XD

* * *

><p>Six fought the bed sheets all night again, and wondered what was going on. It had been like this for a long time, as her decisions and responsibilities absolutely overwhelmed her and refused to let her sleep.<p>

It had taken her a while to forgive Rex for destroying the pinecone, as silly as it was to hold a grudge. Still, that pinecone represented much more than anyone would ever know. It was part of her reawakening into womanhood, and it made her realize that she was worthy of a man's affection. There was more to being female than just being beautiful; she was worth the time for someone to get to know.

She cherished Vulpes' love as one of her few memories, even if she never returned his affections. She also wore his mark every day, another memory that she carried. Collecting these memories was important; it would help her to never forget.

Six often wondered why she didn't keep memories with her of her old life. Doc Mitchell had nothing to give her; no personal items that had been on her at the time of her shooting. She had been left with the impression of a woman who either had nothing, or at least, didn't want to remember anything. In that sense, Six supposed that the Courier from before had gotten her wish to forget everything she left behind and start over.

Sometimes, she felt bad for that person who no longer existed. That woman was murdered that day, and Six often wondered what became of her. Were they separate entities? Did that woman go on to the afterlife, and did Six take her place? The thought that a person could simply cease to exist altogether – to cease as a consciousness or even a memory – was scary. And after the dreams of being a restless, lonely person happened, Six wondered that perhaps, that woman had found the peace that she wanted. At least, that was her hope. Sometimes, she thought the opposite, since she was haunted at night.

It was late afternoon, and the suite was full. Cass and Veronica sat at the kitchen table, playing a game of caravan. Six never understood the rules, and declined to play, even after remembering that Vulpes told her a secret strategy of only playing certain cards.

Arcade sat in a corner and read, his leg crossed over the other, glasses crawling down the bridge of his nose. Despite his hair color being wrong, the sight was heart-achingly familiar, though Six couldn't place why. Many things troubled her lately, and Six found herself leaving the suite.

She rode the elevator up to the penthouse, wanting someone to cheer her up. Yes Man would always be there, always happy, always giving her answers to some of her questions. Sometimes, Six felt guilty that she was essentially cheating at everything and getting answers from an almost all-knowing robot overlord. But Yes Man always told her that it wasn't cheating; many people did the same thing with their parents, according to him.

She smiled slightly at the thought, and the elevator doors opened to the penthouse. Sunlight poured in through the wide windows on every side, giving the room a wonderfully warm feeling. Six stood in a beam of light for a while and enjoyed how it felt, and supposed it was one of the best feelings in the world. She figured that the other woman liked it too, and sat down on the floor outside of the elevator.

The warmth of the sunlight drew her down further, and soon, the Courier was laying in the patch of light, her eyes closed, skin comfortably warm under its leather trappings. After a moment, the light and heat was too much, but she didn't want to leave until it was absolutely unbearable. That didn't take long.

Six took one last stretch before sitting up and letting her eyes adjust to the darkness outside of the beam of light. It didn't take long, and the Courier stood and walked down the stairs to talk with her friend. She entered the room that used to hold House, waiting for Yes Man's face to pop up on the screen.

But there was nothing, and Six tilted her head to the side. She supposed that maybe she had been quiet when she entered, and called out to him. There was no reply.

Six began to get worried and wondered where he had gone. The screen in front of her blinked, providing a clue.

There was a message there; telling her to let Julie Farkas into the presidential suite, as well as telling her to have Arcade get ready for a patient with severe wounds. Frowning, she turned around and made her way back down.

Six had the feeling that something very bad had happened.

* * *

><p>Securitrons covered them on all sides as they made their way into Freeside. Vulpes couldn't do so much as open his eyes to look at the crowd that shouted at them in protest. It was very different, showing up as a Legionary as opposed to a tourist. The same ferocity with which the Legion hated the dissolute, the dissolute returned.<p>

Shouts and insults made their way to his ears; rapist, slaver, cocksucker, baby killers. He supposed that to some extent, these were all true. But he knew Freeside, and knew that the labels they turned on him could equally apply to them as well.

The securitrons ordered the crowds to disburse, stating that the Legionaries were refugees from the Legion state. Truthfully, the label of 'refugee' stung the most. They were homeless and cast out from the very place that they protected and built up.

The blaring music of the Strip sounded dull in his ears, as if his head was under water. Vulpes felt that his time would soon be at hand, and he thought of the life he lived. He was frustrated that everything ended like this, that he would be executed from one of the Butcher's tantrums. He would see Six one last time, then his vision would fade to nothing, and the world would just disappear. And then? Probably nothing. No consciousness, no state of being, no great castle in the sky, no harem, just nothingness.

If he were able to do things over, he would have stood up for himself sooner. He would have insisted on some things, would have tried harder to persuade Caesar to think about things a little differently. He wouldn't have let the Butcher get a hold of him. But, above all else, he wouldn't have let Six slip away as she did. A superstitious tribal would have no reason to doubt that his soul would wander the earth without rest for the life he lived. Vulpes wouldn't be so optimistic that he would be able to watch Six from the afterlife; men like him went to hell, if there was one.

He felt Crassius trudge up a set of stairs, and the light grew dimmer. There were voices and the walking stopped for a moment before a ding sounded. It was then that he heard her.

"What happened?" Six asked, "Who would do this?"

She sounded panicked, her voice ready to break. Vulpes wanted to tell her that he loved her, that he was sorry that she had to see him like this, but he didn't have the energy. It took all of his effort to open his eyes to look at her. When Vulpes saw Six for the first time in a long time, he realized that he was still very much in love.

He was carried into a bedroom and laid out on top of a tarp-covered bed, face down. There were hands all over him, checking his pulse, temperature, and other things. Familiar voices drifted throughout the room; he knew these people, some of them very well, but couldn't remember any of their names. Vulpes heard protests as he felt the prick of needles on his arms, one in the form of what he supposed was an IV.

Shadows hovered around him, stirring the air as they hurriedly walked around the room to gather supplies. One stood still and hovered near him; Vulpes forced his eyes open to see Six crying.

"I love you," he whispered.

Vulpes was sure those would be his last words.

* * *

><p>The handsome doctor dried his bloody hands on a rag and sighed. His companion, a woman with a limp, dark mohawk, appeared visibly shaken. They spoke in hushed tones as to what to do, in particular, if she ought to leave or not. Vulpes was cleaned up and stable, and had a steady stream of medicine and fluids being injected into his body from bags that hung next to the bed. The man insisted that taking care of the fever would be a one-person job, and that she should go back to Freeside and get some rest. Sighing, the worried woman knelt down at Vulpes' side and put her hand on top of his.<p>

"I'll be back to check on you when I can," she promised. The woman excused herself quickly and made her way out of the suite, sparing one last glance toward the man on the bed.

Through the entire treatment, the Courier never left Vulpes' side. Another round of tears threatened to spill down the woman's cheeks, and the flustered doctor cleared his throat.

"How long did you walk?" he asked.

Crassius looked away from Six and caught the eye of the doctor.

"By the way," the doctor stammered, "I'm Arcade Gannon. I tend to start asking questions instead of properly introducing myself like a normal person."

Crassius chuckled and stretched his legs out in front of him.

"Crassius of Whiteriver," he nodded, "and this is Marcus of Sedona and Canyon Runner. We walked three days straight, without breaks, except for ones of necessity."

Arcade frowned and glanced back at Vulpes.

"He means that much to you," he smiled.

"Of course," Marcus interjected, "his loyalty knows no bounds and must be repaid."

The doctor glanced around awkwardly before setting his eyes on them again. Crassius supposed that he hadn't dealt with Legionaries before, much less the elite ones that were before him.

"I recommend doing as much stretching as possible," Arcade said, "and loading up on carbohydrates in order to give your bodies fuel." He excused himself to get some food for them and took the red-haired woman in the corner with him to help.

On the couch in front of them, a short woman wearing a brown hood fidgeted. They were all the Courier's friends, and they seemed decent enough that they allowed them into their home without knowing all of them. Still, something about the small, unassuming woman on the couch made him chuckle.

"Does that glove even fit you?" Crassius asked, nodding toward the woman's power fist.

She gave him a quirky smile and glanced at his before shrugging.

"Does yours fit you, big guy?" she quipped.

He laughed as he began to stretch his legs.

"It's been modified to fit," Crassius answered.

"I'm Veronica," she smiled, "mine's modified too, in a way."

She removed the power fist to reveal an elaborate amount of padding within the glove. The weapon appeared to be in order, however, and Crassius was curious to see how she handled it. He glanced toward the bed where Vulpes lay; he supposed his curiosity would have to wait, especially when there were other, more pressing matters that demanded his attention.

Veronica stood from the couch, and his eyes snapped to her. Movement, even from those who were safe, would always draw his attention. She either didn't mind that she was being watched, or didn't notice.

"You guys probably want a shower," she said, "let me show you to the bathroom." She walked toward the door, expecting them to follow.

Crassius eyed Vulpes again. He didn't want to leave, not when he was so vulnerable. Marcus didn't make a move to leave either, and the recruit followed their lead in not moving.

"He's not going anywhere," Veronica insisted, "besides; I don't think he'd want you to sit around uncomfortable and such."

Six sat next to the bed, her face resting on the mattress just inches away from Vulpes'. Her hand smoothed over his hair as she stared at him, and Crassius had the distinct feeling that if she could crawl inside him and possess him, she would.

The Courier sat up and looked at him.

"I will stay here forever if I have to," she declared, her voice tiny.

A glint of gold caught his eye when she turned back to Vulpes; she still wore his pendant. Crassius sighed in resignation. This woman wouldn't let any further harm come to Vulpes, so he relented and followed Veronica.

From then on, life was going to be different. Crassius hoped that Vulpes would survive and instruct them in the ways of the dissolute. Without him, the transition would be difficult. They needed him.

* * *

><p>Six couldn't think of a better group of Legionaries that she had met that would trust with Vulpes' life. These men were good; she knew that from the second she met them. In fact, the memory of their kindness made Six question her direction more than once. Their presence in New Vegas, however, made Six conclude that these men weren't ultimately meant to be Legion. By extension, perhaps Vulpes wasn't meant to be Legion.<p>

The thought brought her hope, and she quickly squashed it. At any minute, Vulpes could die from his infection, fever, or even blood loss. Though Arcade and Julie did everything they could, Freeside didn't have the exact resources necessary to help Vulpes heal quicker or ensure that he would be fine. His survival would depend on how much fight he had in him.

Six laid her head on the bed again, her face just inches from his. With every thought she had, she pleaded with him to get better. She knew that he had been scourged before, but it was little consolation given that before, he didn't have to travel three days in the desert without care.

His face twitched, and Six sat up. Vulpes was supposed to be out from the medication he had been given. A strangled cry came from his throat, and the Courier shouted for Arcade. Within seconds, the doctor burst into the room, followed closely by a pack of half-dressed Legionaries.

"What's wrong?" Arcade asked.

Six shook her head as Vulpes twisted on the bed in pain. She didn't know what was going on.

"Stop moving!" the doctor shouted, "You could reopen your wounds."

Vulpes held as still as possible, shaking with the effort. Frowning, Arcade took a vial out of his bag and a syringe. He knelt down by the bedside and spoke to Vulpes quietly.

"Is it the pain?" he asked, "I have something for that."

Vulpes drew a shuddering breath as shivers wracked his body.

"I didn't deserve this," he groaned, "give me –"

He didn't have to finish as Arcade quickly swabbed his arm and injected him with powerful drugs. The other Legionaries stared on in horror; Vulpes wasn't supposed to accept painkillers. But Vulpes wasn't Legion anymore, and Six was glad that he allowed Arcade to inject him. She believed with all her heart that Vulpes hadn't deserved such a cruel punishment.

"It should take about fifteen minutes or so to kick in," the doctor noted.

A muted grunt sounded from the bed as Arcade turned around to address the other Legionaries.

"And you all need to put the rest of your clothes on and eat," he nodded, "or, just eat, if you want. I certainly wouldn't mind. And by 'wouldn't mind', I mean that it's totally up to you if you want to bother to – you know what? I'll stop talking now."

The red-faced doctor darted out of the room, followed by three confused Legionaries. Six couldn't help but giggle. Yes, their guests were very handsome, but Vulpes was the handsomest of them all.

She settled her face back down on the bed to stare into his eyes. Neither of them blinked much at all, and Six watched as his face slowly relaxed from pain into a state of bliss. Six could stay there forever, just staring and watching him feel better with each passing second.

A bunch of footsteps sounded outside the doorway, but the Courier didn't bother to look up.

"Yeah," Cass coughed, "let's let them be fucking creepy by themselves. Come to the kitchen and eat some shit."

"Eat shit?" Canyon Runner asked.

Cass's trademark cackle marked the group's departure. Six scooted forward until her forehead almost touched Vulpes'. His mouth opened as he attempted to speak again.

"I –"

Six closed the gap between them as soon as possible, devouring his words with a kiss. She didn't want to hear him confess his love again, especially when she still didn't have an answer for him.

Vulpes didn't seem to realize what she had done and deepened the kiss eagerly. Sighing, Six wound her hands through his hair as she attempted to deny that she missed this. She loved to kiss him, and had longed for him to hold her again during the long time he had been gone.

A hint of a moan curled its way into her mouth; she had to cut this off. Reluctantly, the Courier backed away to stare into his eyes once more.

"Can't move," Vulpes sighed, "Can't do anything more."

"A kiss is all I wanted," she smiled.

Six ran her hands slowly through his hair again and watched as his eyelids began to droop. When Vulpes was finally asleep, she stole one last kiss.


	52. Chapter 52

A/n: Sorry for the delay in updates! I've been extremely busy getting my portfolio ready for submission to concentration, as well as having pet health issues.

* * *

><p>Vulpes drifted in and out of sleep for days on end, bedridden and in constant pain. Despite his lover's calm and the doctor's reassurances, Marcus worried constantly about Vulpes' recovery.<p>

He reached down to his leg and attempted to scratch an itch hidden beneath the legs of his pants, growling when he failed to relieve it. The damned things were uncomfortable, always binding at the worst places. But, at least he didn't have Crassius' problem. His height made the pants extra short, and he had to tuck them into the tops of his boots. He had to admit, though, that the dark tan pants and skin-tight white shirt looked good on him, making Marcus want to run his hands all over the tight material. Regardless, he couldn't do anything about that, not when he didn't know where these dissolute stood on their brand of relationship. They had to tread carefully, lest they be thrown out.

Veronica walked into the room with what appeared to be cleaned laundry in her hands.

"It took a lot of work," she announced, "but I got the blood out of the capes."

Marcus accepted the bundles of material from the short woman. She had done this without being asked to do so, and it wasn't often that a woman did. Perhaps, the women across the river were different.

"Thanks," he nodded.

"Oh, it's nothing," she chuckled, "was going to go crazy if I didn't do something."

He knew the feeling all too well, and if it hadn't been for Arcade's insistence, Marcus would be in the room with Vulpes, hovering almost as close as the Courier was. Initially, he had been suspicious that the doctor didn't want all of them to be with Vulpes, yet allowed the Courier to stay. But upon learning that the room in which Vulpes recovered was her bedroom, Marcus supposed it made sense. It was kind, however, that Six allowed them to sleep on the floor there. He outright refused to take the couch from her, the ruler of New Vegas.

He felt the impulse in his legs to get up and check on Vulpes, but stopped when Crassius nudged him with his knee. The couch that they occupied was just for them, with everyone insisting that they needed to be comfortable after their cross-desert trek carrying an injured man. It was nice; the soft cushions helped soothe his sore muscles. But it felt like such an unnecessary luxury, especially when they had just done what they were supposed to. Even Canyon Runner insisted that they take the couch.

Marcus glanced over at Crassius. Their eyes met quickly as they shared a secret look. Crassius' eyes flickered over his body, and he suppressed a shiver. He just needed ten minutes alone with him– another appreciative look; five minutes, maybe three – and he would be set for a little while. Marcus looked at him again, and then noticed something that he hadn't seen before.

"Being out in the sun like that," he noted, "and you freckled like a girl."

The teasing earned him a blush and an indignant gasp from Crassius. Needling him was easy, when one knew exactly what to say. It didn't take much more than a veiled mention that Crassius was the more feminine party out of the two and he would be red within seconds. Marcus knew he was treading on thin ice in regards to their secret, but he couldn't help it.

"Do you have a problem with gingers?" Cass drawled. She stood from her chair and sauntered over to the couch, a bottle of unnamed dissolute drink hanging precariously from her fingers.

In the next instant, the woman sat in Crassius' lap and twisted around to straddle his waist.

"You should know," she smiled, "redheads are wild as hell."

Marcus blinked in confusion. Was she hitting on both of them at the same time?

A chuckle sounded in the doorway, and Marcus turned to see Vulpes leaning on the Courier's arm. Vulpes was standing much earlier than he should have been able to, and for a moment, it felt like a miracle. But there was something strange about his eyes, something unnatural and somewhat disturbing. It had to be the dissolute medication.

Six led him to a chair and Vulpes straddled it in order to keep his back from making contact. He turned his eyes to the couch and smirked.

"Miss Cassidy," he said, "you'd get more wood from a table."

In a second, the woman turned from lusty to enraged as she whirled around to face Vulpes.

"What the fuck's that supposed to mean?" she growled. Her fist tightened around the bottle in her hand.

Vulpes looked past her and gave Crassius a slight nod.

"Don't want to out you," he shrugged, "but you look uncomfortable."

Cass blinked then turned to look at Crassius. Swearing, she hastily stood from the couch, took a long draught from the bottle, and exhaled loudly after swallowing. Marcus glanced around in confusion. What did 'out' mean?

"So," she sighed, "the rumors about the Legion were true."

"What rumors?" Canyon Runner asked.

"You're queers," Cass replied.

While Canyon Runner protested loudly, Marcus felt his stomach clench. They knew, and he and Crassius were sure to be thrown out.

"Well," Arcade smiled, "you'll be happy to know that people don't get executed for being homosexual here."

Marcus let out the breath he had been holding.

"So, they just let people walk around like that?" he asked.

The doctor frowned and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Yes," he clipped, "In fact, I walk around like that every day."

In the corner, Veronica chimed in with a quick 'me too' and Marcus sighed in relief. Here, he could do as he wished, free of the fear of death. The realization, however, brought a small amount of unreasonable anxiety. What was he going to do now?

The question was answered for him as Crassius scooted closer to him on the couch and wrapped his arm around his shoulder. They would figure out what to do together.

* * *

><p>Canyon Runner watched as Arcade, Six, and Veronica asked as many questions as they could about the praetorians' relationship; when they met, were they in love, when did they know they were in love, and all other sorts of details. For his part, Canyon Runner stayed silent, thinking on where life had led him in the past two weeks. He wondered where he would have been had he not been born into the Legion. This thought was quickly dismissed; however, as he realized that without the Legion, he wouldn't have existed. Marcus and Crassius wouldn't have either.<p>

The questions died down until Canyon Runner could ask one that had been weighing on his mind. Vulpes caught his eye and waited expectantly, as if he knew he wanted to speak.

"And you?" Canyon Runner asked him.

Vulpes lifted an eyebrow in confusion.

"And what?" he asked.

"Are you an equal opportunity player?" Cassidy asked, finishing Canyon Runner's question for him.

Vulpes exhaled and stared at the floor. Apparently, the question caught him off guard.

"I don't even know anymore," he mumbled.

"Just do whatever feels right," Cassidy declared, "that's what I do."

"Yeah," Six added, "me too."

Vulpes stared at the Courier in shock and hurt. In the corner, Arcade cleared his throat.

"I don't think we're talking about the same thing," he chuckled.

Six gave the doctor a confused look that instantly set Vulpes at ease. Either this woman was stupid, or incredibly innocent. Canyon Runner liked to think the later; she had bested the Legion on her own, after all.

Cassidy snorted and took a huge gulp of her drink, emptying the bottle and smacking her lips. She grumbled about needing more and began to search through the cupboards. Watching her gave Canyon Runner another question – hopefully, an inoffensive one, this time.

"So, why do you drink that?" he asked.

The redhead's grin was worth it. She didn't smile often in conversation, but when she did, it was nice.

"I like it," she replied, "want to try some?"

Cassidy held out a bottle of light amber liquid, and Canyon Runner stared at in horror. He couldn't drink that. Vulpes stared directly at him, his expression unreadable. He was their leader now, and Canyon Runner was obligated to ask his permission for anything outside of his regular existence.

"I wouldn't drink that," Vulpes frowned, "what's in that bottle is for people who will put anything in their mouths."

Veronica's face turned red as she tried to breathe in between laughs while Arcade simply shook his head. Canyon Runner couldn't help but be disappointed at the amount of evidence that suggested that Cassidy was a woman of loose morals. It was always the attractive women that came into the camp that had diseases and the like; the whole thing was a waste of a beautiful woman.

"Tell ya what," Cassidy chuckled, "we'll go up to the cocktail lounge and find some rum. Rum's the gateway booze anyway."

Vulpes shrugged and said that he didn't care what they did. This sealed Canyon Runner's fate, and he found himself being dragged against his will into the elevator. He hadn't agreed to drinking any alcohol.

The door to the device closed shut, and Canyon Runner realized that there was no escape. After all, he didn't know how to work the contraption and order it back down. The woman who conspired against him crossed her arms and waited as the elevator took them to their destination. Were all elevator rides this awkward?

"So," she murmured, "What the hell happened to Fox, I mean, Vulpes?"

He shook his head, unwilling to answer the question.

"I wasn't told," Canyon Runner replied.

Cassidy snorted and shifted her weight to the other foot. The elevator opened, and she stepped out into a large room that appeared to once be an eating place of sorts. Now, it was clearly a plant nursery.

"Let me rephrase that," she countered, "What do you think happened? It's obvious that he's been raped or something."

He could not tell her. Canyon Runner couldn't betray the trust of such a great man. As Cassidy rooted around in the cupboards and placed bottles on the counter, he said nothing.

"That bad?" she grunted, grabbing a few of the bottles.

Canyon Runner gave her a quick nod; it was all she was going to get from him. They stepped back into the elevator, and the woman didn't press the issue. He appreciated her respect; it was something that he hadn't expected from such an uncouth woman.

The elevator door opened and they stepped out. As Canyon Runner followed Cassidy to the kitchen, his stomach began to clench. They weren't really going to make him drink alcohol, right?

His worst fears were realized when Cassidy handed one of the bottles to Vulpes for his approval. Vulpes turned it in his hand to read the label, unscrewed the top, and, much to the nearby doctor's chagrin, took a small sip of the liquid. While Arcade frantically told him about the dangers of mixing alcohol and med-x, Vulpes gave a curt nod and handed the bottle back to Cassidy.

Canyon Runner watched the caravaner search through the cupboards for glasses then grab a set of Nuka-colas from the nearby refrigerator. She poured a certain quantity of both into each glass, stirred it with the blade of a butter knife, and brought one of the drinks over to him. Canyon Runner didn't want to do so much as hold the glass, but it would be rude not to take it.

Cass quickly instructed him that he was to not smell the drink, and was to swallow each sip without rolling it around in his mouth. He was to then exhale after swallowing, because it was a stiff drink and he had no experience with alcohol.

So, he did as he was told, noting Vulpes' bemused expression by looking over the rim of the glass. Liquid slid into his mouth, tasting somewhat like the cola had gone bad. Quickly, he remembered that he should swallow it fast, and did so, but it was too late. The drink sent him sputtering as he winced and tried to cough the taste out of his mouth. As everyone laughed, the praetorians looked on in horror.

"I didn't even want this!" Canyon Runner protested.

"Then why did you do it?" Vulpes asked, chuckling.

"Because I do what I'm told," he frowned, looking at the floor.

Canyon Runner expected approval. He expected to be told that was the right thing, or to at least get a small nod. But Vulpes gave him a disappointed look and shook his head.

"You had better learn to think for yourself," He said, "you have the capacity to do it."

He did think for himself, at least, within reason of what he was told. But that meant that he didn't think for himself, and Canyon Runner was back at the start again.

"Speaking of drinking," Vulpes blinked, "What happened to Boone?"

The room took on a somber mood as the Courier and her friends frowned and shook their heads. Canyon Runner wasn't sure what was going on; someone must have died.

"Ran off," Six mumbled, "Didn't like Yes Man and the plans. He didn't want to be my friend."

Arcade shook his head.

"Just because you had a fight," he interjected, "doesn't mean that he didn't want to be your friend."

"I did the right thing," the Courier pouted, "and I'm pretty sure that all that yelling means that he's not my friend."

A silence fell upon the group as each lost themselves in their own thoughts. Canyon Runner thought of what Six said, that she believed she had done the right thing in making New Vegas an independent state. She thought for herself and forged her own path, against the wishes of others. Canyon Runner had done the same thing when he let Vulpes down from the cross. In that moment, he reached a crossroads of a decision, where he was to either listen to what he was told, or do what was right. Vulpes reiterated the importance of thinking to him that very day and even voiced his confidence that Canyon Runner could become an individual.

Canyon Runner stared down at the drink in his hands. It hadn't killed him, and he felt no worse for having taken a sip of it. He supposed he could drink it, or he could not; that was his choice.

Canyon Runner took another sip of the drink, and spied Cassidy's wry grin over the rim of the glass. Perhaps, it would kill him in an entirely different way.

* * *

><p>Everyone was happily buzzed, and Vulpes was pleased with his fellow Legionaries' acceptance of New Vegas culture. He was certain that they would use their heads with substances, and that he wouldn't have to reel them in.<p>

As much as he loved to watch them, Vulpes was getting tired. He had been out of the room for about two hours, and it took its toll on him just to stay sitting up.

Six leaned over in her chair to tuck a scrap of overgrown hair behind his ear.

"Want to go to bed?" she asked.

Bed? With her? Oh, yes. But that probably wasn't what she had in mind. Still, it continually amazed him that Six seemed to know what he needed, which was rest, all desires aside.

He gave her a quick nod, and she helped him up from the chair. The talking in the room paused for a moment as the praetorians asked if they needed help. Six gave a quick no before leading him by the arm toward her bedroom.

They stopped just inside the room for a quick kiss. When Vulpes drew back to peer into her eyes, he decided that he could have just one more. Their lips met again; this time, more drawn out. Her little sigh told him that he couldn't pull away, and Vulpes leaned in again. Their tongues met, the Courier's mouth tasting like rum.

Vulpes stepped backward and the backs of his legs bumped against the footstool that was close to the couch. As their kiss became more fervent, he sat down, dragging Six into his lap. The grind of their hips against each other sent Vulpes gasping and renewing his effort. His mouth engulfed hers as the loneliness of their time apart began to evaporate.

Her hand wound itself into his hair, the other splayed across his bare chest. Vulpes waited for this moment for what seemed like an eternity, and he savored every desperate second.

Six scooted closer on his lap, gasping when she most assuredly felt his arousal. He was too winded to chuckle, so he settled on grabbing her hips and kissing her neck. The Courier pushed forward again, biting her lip to try to hold in another gasp. When she moved a third time, Vulpes met her, starting a slow rhythm. They sat there for a while, rocking and gasping until his arousal hit the point of desperation. If he didn't stop, he would have her right there, door open and all.

Sparks danced across his vision as the world faded into gray. He was panting, barely able to gather enough air to keep himself from passing out. Vulpes wasn't well enough. If he continued to exert himself, he could pass out from it. For a moment, he sat, weighing the pros and cons of continuing. He could pass out even before finishing, could potentially delay his healing, or even regress in progress. Was having sex worth that? In a second, Vulpes concluded that it was.

He was about to make a move when Six stood from his lap and grabbed his elbow in an attempt to lead him toward the bed.

"You're still sick," she sighed, "and you fell asleep there for a moment with your head on my shoulder."

Had he? He certainly didn't remember falling asleep.

"I'm fine," he protested, blinking as his vision blurred.

Vulpes grunted as she made him lie in bed, face down to protect his back. The uncomfortableness of the position didn't faze him as he realized that perhaps, she was right. He fell asleep quickly, despite his best efforts.

* * *

><p>Six sat next to Vulpes, running her hands through his hair as he slept. He hadn't stirred in hours, and the Courier worried that maybe he was pushed too far in walking out to the kitchen earlier. The room was cold, dark, and quiet, the silence punctuated by occasional laughter from the other room. For the first time since the Legionaries arrived, they were able to truly relax.<p>

A grunt roused her from her thinking, and Six leaned over to kiss Vulpes on the cheek. He turned to look at her, his eyes sad. Something was on his mind.

"Need to tell you something," he murmured.

Six hoped it wasn't another love confession; she heard so many of those in the past few days, and each one made her feel increasingly guilty. If he loved her, then she felt pressured to love him back, even if she didn't. He almost died trying to find his way to her, after all. Vulpes was so devoted, and the Courier steeled herself for what he was about to say.

"I can't just keep this to myself any longer," Vulpes continued, "while the other Legionaries know what happened to me, they don't understand how much it bothers me."

Six grabbed his hand, bracing herself. This sounded very bad.

"I trust you," he sighed, "and I know that you won't judge me for my past. You don't care that I'm Legion, after all. But I need you to swear that you'll not tell anyone what I am about to say."

"I promise," Six whispered, peering into his eyes. She swore with all her heart that she wouldn't tell anyone.

"The over the past months," he continued, "the Butcher forced me into sexual situations. My eventual refusal is what put me in this state. The others know this."

Six stared at him, her eyes wide. If the others knew about that, then she was very scared to hear what his secret was. But she swore to keep it, and she would.

"What happened with him brings back memories," Vulpes murmured, "memories of things that happened when I was a child that I locked away as best as I could. But recently, it's been haunting me, and I'm unable to move past it."

He froze, as if unable to continue. Leaning in, Six kissed his cheek and squeezed his hand in an attempt to tell him that it was okay.

"When I was a child, my instructor touched me," Vulpes admitted, "frequently. So, what I feel right now – I don't know – it is difficult. I relived that past. There are no words to describe it."

Six's chin shook as she attempted to hold back her tears. Who would do such a thing to a child?

What Boone told her long ago came back into her mind, that men like Vulpes always had some sort of baggage. But, why this? Why did it have to be something so horrible?

"If just one person understands," Vulpes whispered, "then perhaps everything will feel better."

The tears she held back finally fell as Six scooted over from her chair to lay next to him in the bed. She wanted to hug him, to be as close as possible and never let go. But his back was absolutely destroyed, and Six couldn't touch him.

"Don't cry for me," he chided, kissing her hand. There was a tremble in his voice, and it was too dark to see exactly how he felt.

In the corner of her eye, Six noticed that the door had been cracked open. She saw the shadow of someone walking away, and she wondered if they overheard what she and Vulpes talked about. If Vulpes noticed them, he didn't seem to indicate that he knew.

Six scooted closer to Vulpes, hoping that he hadn't. She couldn't imagine the pain of sharing such a terrible secret, then having someone accidentally overhear.

But would telling her fix everything? Six wasn't so naïve as to believe so.

* * *

><p>He lost track of the number of days that he had been in captivity. It was obvious that the uncreative fools that held him captive thought this was a good way to weaken his resolve, to get him to finally talk. Silus did wonder, though, what they would do if he just decided to talk. The shock would probably kill them.<p>

The NCR group that had once been at Camp McCarran carted him around until they were back in NCR territory. It was pathetic how they lost the war, yet they still attempted to get information out of him – information that was outdated, nonetheless.

The rusted door to his interrogation room opened and Lt. Carrie Boyd stepped in. Every day, this happened, sometimes more than once a day.

"Hey," she grumbled, lighting a cigarette. She knew it would annoy him.

"Bitch," Silus nodded.

Like usual, it didn't faze Boyd. If he talked, it wouldn't be to her; he wanted to annoy the Lieutenant as much as he could, and it was one way that he could get even.

The door opened again, and another person stepped into the room. From the last name on the man's shirt, he knew that this was Captain Ronald Curtis. He had a reputation for being a hard-ass, almost as much as Boyd. But, compared to the Legion, these profligate commanders were all soft.

"I figured I'd let a man talk to you," Boyd clipped, "since you're all into that kind of thing."

"I'm not the Legate," Silus snapped. The words came out in a rush, his own voice taking on a mind of its own. He supposed he didn't care, though. The Legion had more problems than worrying about a captured Centurion that was no longer in the loop.

"The Legate is Caesar now," Curtis interjected, "in case you didn't know."

A bitter laugh escaped his lips before Silus could catch it.

"What's so funny?" Boyd asked.

To spite her, Silus didn't say a word.

"Trouble in paradise?" Curtis asked.

It was a curious question, given that the normal assumption would be that with the Legate in charge, the Legion would be unstoppable. Perhaps, this Captain Curtis was smarter than the average piece of NCR trash.

"With Lanius in charge," he explained, "everyone is fucked."

"Everyone?" Curtis chuckled.

"NCR, Legion," Silus continued, "Vulpes Inculta – especially Vulpes Inculta – is fucked."

Boyd lifted a brow at what he said, but made no move to ask another question. It was obvious that she wouldn't get anything out of him, and her face was turning red with what Silus hoped was jealousy. This case had been her baby, after all, and he decided to talk to someone else right in front of her face.

"Vulpes Inculta," Curtis nodded, "why especially him?"

Silus felt a twinge of irritation as the man mispronounced Vulpes' name, immediately after he said it.

"Well 'Sirtis'," he mispronounced, "what do you think it means?"

"Sounds like the Legion's favored general can't keep his hands off of people," Curtis guessed.

Silus shook his head.

"No, that's Vulpes," he replied.

The Centurion shot Boyd a lewd glance and loved her fidgeting under his gaze. She was used to being treated like a man, and it showed.

"Boyd is his type," he goaded, "I bet he's given her a pregnancy scare or two."

The woman rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, glancing down at the floor. Word got around very easily, and the walls of their new base were very thin. Silus listened, and he knew everything. Boyd fucked around with a man named Fox, as did a bunch of women on the Strip. Given Vulpes' desires, his identity was easy to see to someone that was at the top of the Legion.

"What is his type?" Curtis asked. He reached into his pocket for a cigarette and Silus sighed. The Captain must have seen it; he put the cigarette away without lighting it. Maybe the man would win enough of his respect, if he had any, that he would reveal Vulpes' identity. He suspected not, though; if they couldn't figure it out with the hints he provided, then they didn't deserve to know.

"She has a pulse," he snickered, "that's all Vulpes needs."

"So, a sex addict?" the Captain pressed. His stare was strange, almost sad looking. Pity for the enemy was weakness.

"If you can get addicted to it," Silus shrugged, "guess so."

"What does that have to do with Lanius?" Curtis wondered.

Silus snorted, wondering how these people were so thick. The implications of what he said were obvious, but he supposed he would have to spell it out for them.

"It was no secret," he explained, "that when Lanius first joined the Legion, he had a thing for Vulpes. Now I wager he can act on it, despite the fact that it is very, very illegal."

"What makes Vulpes so special?" Curtis asked.

"Are you stupid?" he snapped, "He's the leader of the Frumentarii and could go anywhere and do anything he wanted. He had Caesar wrapped around his finger, and it bothered people. The Butcher didn't like that, but has some kind of disgusting attraction to him. I guarantee that Vulpes is playing bitch to try to get in good with Lanius."

Boyd laughed and uncrossed her arms.

"So, a forbidden affair," she chuckled, "that could tear the Legion apart. NCR wouldn't even have to do a thing."

The Lieutenant tossed her half-finished cigarette on the floor by his feet, just out of his reach. She told him that he had done well that day, patronizing him for his cooperation. Silus didn't bother to reply, and this annoyed Boyd.

"He probably thinks you're beneath his notice," Curtis chuckled, earning an indignant huff from the woman.

Silus laughed outright; the Captain was absolutely correct. Boyd was a mannish whore, beneath his notice. She hadn't been beneath Vulpes' notice, but all that animal needed was a pulse.

He watched as the two NCR officers left his room and began to discuss Curtis' retirement. The thought of quitting the military was foreign to Silus; Legionaries didn't quit. But Curtis was of an honorless breed, the type of warrior that played around with being one before quitting.

Silus stifled his mind's accusation that he had quit too and instead focused on their conversation. Curtis was leaving in three days' time to retire to New Vegas, to hopefully benefit from the new government's prosperity. It was an adventure of the boring kind, when a man would cut down plants instead of his foes.

He didn't understand what was so attractive about the filthy city, the lights, gambling, and degenerate scum that trashed the place on a nightly basis. One thing was for certain, though; when the Mojave called to someone, there was no resisting the desert's call.


	53. Chapter 53

Coming out of the Northern Passage was like entering another dimension. In the months that Boone had been gone, New Vegas changed a lot. Farms dotted the roads, field workers punctuating rows upon rows of plants. As they passed by, people stared at them, though whether it was because of Joshua or him with his First Recon beret, Boone wasn't sure.

Follows-Chalk waddled alongside them, making a valiant attempt at wearing the clothes that he had been given. He looked around at everything in awe; this was the adventure he had been waiting for.

While the scout was excited, Boone couldn't help but feel a wave of nervous energy coiling inside his gut. Emotions – something that he had boxed away long ago – were foreign to him; it was exciting, but mostly scary. The nervous anticipation grew the closer they got to New Vegas, until he stared at the gates to the Strip. He was frozen in place, afraid of the very friends that took him in and didn't judge him when he was at his worst. Boone almost didn't want them to take him back; it would be what he deserved. Still, he longed to be with them, and he couldn't decide which outcome would be better.

"Are you ready, Craig?" Joshua asked. His voice pulled Boone back into the terrifying, nauseating present.

"Yeah," he sighed.

They approached the guarded gate, stepping into a fenced area that reminded Boone of a cattle-chute from his parents' ranch. The gate to the Strip was always intimidating, and it appeared that it remained so. Boone wondered why this was; he figured that Six would have torn the thing down and allowed people to come and go as they pleased. This must have been the bot's doing.

One of the sentries wheeled up to them, scanning Boone's face.

"Welcome back to New Vegas," it greeted, "enjoy your stay at the Lucky 38."

Relief washed over him; he was still allowed into the Lucky 38, and that meant that he still had a chance with everyone. A hand settled on his shoulder and Boone turned to meet Joshua's gaze.

"People who would take you in when you were at your worst," he nodded, "would certainly take you back at your best. Remember that."

Boone replied with a smile and ushered them toward the gate. He walked backward as it opened in front of them, wanting to see Follows-Chalk's reaction to the Strip. If one light bulb was fascinating, then hundreds, all of different colors and blinking, would be something incredible.

He wasn't disappointed. The scout's fascination reminded him of Six's when she first entered the Strip, all wide eyes full of wonder.

"What do you think?" Boone asked, chuckling.

Follows-Chalk snapped out of his looking and shook his head.

"A man could get distracted here," he replied, "it is no wonder people travel great distances to find this place."

Boone nodded and grunted in agreement; that was what New Vegas was all about. It was a city dedicated to making travelers forget their problems, and often, it created more problems for them. A shout drew Boone's attention, and he turned his gaze toward a small crowd that had gathered outside the Lucky 38.

"Sniper!" he called, "you're one that can go inside the Lucky 38, yeah?"

Boone nodded reluctantly. He didn't want to help these people with their problems, and wanted them to leave him alone. Boone chided himself for being selfish.

"A few days ago or so," the man frowned, "an armed escort of securitrons led what they called 'refugees of the state of the Legion' into the Lucky 38. But they didn't look like no refugees to anybody; they looked like Legionaries. We haven't heard a peep out of that place and folks are getting nervous."

"They could have been slaves disguised as Legionaries," Graham noted.

"Maybe," the man shrugged, "the one guy was beat all to hell. His back was nothing but ribbons. But slaves don't have muscles like those other guys."

"No promises," Boone grunted.

The crowd began to protest as Boone trudged up the stairs. He turned around to face the increasingly angry people.

"Christ," he growled, "I'm going in, aren't I?"

They were silent in an instant, leaving Boone to hear Joshua sighing behind him. Boone mumbled a quick apology to him and marveled for a second that he was apologizing for saying that particular curse. He wouldn't have bothered to do so before.

Boone greeted the bot at the bottom of the elevator and wondered if he could just go on up. None of the securitrons stopped him, so he figured it was okay. He ushered his traveling companions into the elevator, then exhaled as he set the course for the presidential suite.

"Veronica will be fine with us," he said, "Cass should too, probably. Arcade might be a little mother hen-ish, since he protects Six. I have no idea what Six will do. She's very sensitive and I was a huge jerk to her. But if Fox is there –"

He trailed off at the thought of Fox entering the equation.

"I hope to God Fox is there," he concluded. Fox would be a voice of reason if Six got hysterical.

There were also these supposed Legionaries to deal with, and Boone didn't savor the idea. What was Six thinking?

The elevator dinged and the door opened to reveal the empty hallway. There was a rustling in the kitchen, an all too familiar clinking of bottles; Cass was up. She peered out of the doorway and did a double take.

"You're like a tumbleweed, Craig Boone," she smiled, "Breakfast?" Cass held out a bottle of whiskey.

"No thanks," Boone replied. He would never touch alcohol again.

The caravaner lifted an eyebrow then grinned.

"Good," she chuckled, "because I ain't sharing."

There were sounds coming from the bedroom, the bed moving as someone woke up.

"Gotta ask you," Boone nodded, "What's this I hear about Legionaries?"

He expected a laugh, maybe even a shrug, but what Boone didn't expect was for Cass to frown and step closer.

"Why?" she asked, "ya lookin' for trouble?"

* * *

><p>He didn't sleep well, not after hearing what Marcus overheard Vulpes telling the Courier. Crassius wished that he was close enough to Vulpes to have been told firsthand. Then again, he couldn't blame Vulpes for telling Six; she was the one that he loved and trusted, in the same way that Crassius loved Marcus.<p>

He yawned and stretched in bed, the sheets clinging to his shirt and pants. The room was hot and smelled of stale alcohol from the previous night's festivities. Under his and Marcus' suggestion, everyone, save Vulpes and the Courier, piled into the secondary room at the corner of the suite to spend the night. After hearing of what Marcus overheard, they both agreed to keep it to themselves, as well as ensure that the couple had time alone together.

Foggy memories of the night before came to Crassius' mind; Marcus dragging him to the bathroom to talk quietly, their sadness and subsequent quick moment of intimacy, then drinking more. His mouth felt stale, and his head unclear. He had to get something to drink to wash the taste out.

Crassius slipped out of the bed and cracked the door open, causing Marcus to groan as light from the hallway spilled onto his face. He peered out and saw a group of people standing in the entryway, speaking quietly with Cass. One person in particular looked strange, and according to the superstitious tales spread throughout the Legion, Crassius had a good guess as to who it was. He turned around to crack open the bedroom door again.

"Burned Man's out here," Crassius murmured. There was nothing more than a grunt in reply.

He left Marcus in bed and shuffled toward the kitchen, intent on grabbing a cola to wake himself up. With a tug, the fridge door opened and cold air curled its way around his toes. Crassius snagged a bottle of Sunset Sarsaparilla, popped the top, sat down, and downed the drink in a quick series of gulps. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and grinned lazily. The Burned man was in the hallway.

Oh, shit.

The chair fell backward as he bolted upright and darted back out into the hall. Staring at the bandaged man, Crassius backed up until he was next to the door to the Courier's room; he'd let Graham get to Vulpes over his dead body.

"Disarm," he frowned. Crassius had never seen Graham before now, but the bandages along with the Salt Lake Police Department vest were an obvious giveaway.

"Unnecessary," Graham replied. His voice was smoky, his aura peaceful. But Crassius couldn't trust him; they were of opposing sides.

Marcus peeked into the hallway and saw the Burned Man as well. Hurriedly, he took his place next to Crassius in flanking the doorway. The recruit appeared soon after, staring on in horror at the apparition-turned-man in front of him. He was frozen in place, and Crassius could tell why he had been put in charge of the new captures instead of being on the field.

"Who are they?" the NCR sniper asked, nodding toward them. Cass didn't reply.

The doctor was the next to come out of the bedroom. He adjusted his coat and glasses, staring at everyone.

"Hey Boone," he smiled, "I think I'll be back in just a second."

Crassius allowed Arcade passage into the bedroom to check on Vulpes. He overheard the doctor administering medication, as well as talking though the door. Arcade mumbled something to him, and it was obvious that it wasn't meant to be overheard. Vulpes didn't seem to catch the hint.

"And what would you like me to come out as?" he asked. Vulpes' voice seemed to put the NCR sniper at ease; he must have known Vulpes, at least, when he was undercover. Perhaps, Arcade's plan was wise.

The door cracked open and Marcus moved to the front of the door, just outside of its path. He physically blocked any shot that could be aimed at the occupants inside, as was standard protocol. The red-faced doctor led Vulpes into the hallway where he could hopefully smooth everything over.

Crassius certainly didn't want to take his chances with the Burned Man.

* * *

><p>Vulpes Inculta.<p>

Graham remembered him well. He'd been an arrogant young man, a colossal prick with a hot temper with a voracious sexual appetite. Vulpes had been eighteen when Edward chose him to be one of his Frumentarii. He had seen the kid off and on for the last few years of him being the Legate and watched him climb the ranks quickly and ferociously.

Apparently, he had grown into his large features, save his hands, which looked large like paws. It was a physical manifestation of humanism.

The man that stood before him was a pale shade of the prideful child he had gotten to know years ago. Vulpes looked defeated; his sad eyes a bottomless well of raw despair. There were various wounds all over the young man's body that painted a gruesome picture of what happened. Graham was reminded of an abused animal.

"Mr. Graham," Vulpes rasped, "usually it is I who has attempted to keep in touch. It is so nice of you to visit. I'm sure that you received one of my many messages, though I never got a reply."

Internal and external bruising of the throat indicated that he had been brutally strangled.

"I'll admit that I was lax in my reply," Graham nodded, "but then again, venturing into Zion is generally a one way trip, in particular for Frumentarii."

Vulpes offered his hand for him to shake and he took it. There was something wild in the young man's eyes, his pupils contracted far beyond normal. He had taken drugs to ease his pain, an action that was worthy of execution in the Legion. This was a man who had hit rock bottom.

"The messages were just business," Vulpes smiled, "I'm no longer in charge of such things. In fact, the Frumentarii were disbanded altogether. I was given 'other tasks'."

It was obvious that Vulpes was trying to suck up to him, which was completely unnecessary. Not much remained of the violent, angry man he had been and Graham harbored no ill will toward him. The guilt that he felt over the things he had done in the Legion increased as he looked upon the product of his actions. This one had been raised from a young age as a member of the Legion.

A nervous animal of a man stood before him and Graham again wondered what happened to the man who had been the embodiment of the seven deadly sins.

"And what has Caesar's fox done to deserve the eye of the praetorians?" he asked, nodding toward the muscular Legionaries that flanked him.

"Vulpes is the rightful Caesar," the shorter one remarked.

Vulpes' eyes grew huge as he shook his head violently.

"I said no such thing," he protested, "and I want nothing to do with it. Make your own decisions, and I'll make mine."

Edward was dead? Graham wanted to know how and why, but now wasn't the proper time; he had to see if they were welcome in the first place. Craig looked at Vulpes as if he was hurt.

"Fox?" he asked, his face unsure.

"Yes, Boone," Vulpes sighed, "fraternizing with the enemy. If there had been a way –"

Loud thumping noises sounded behind a closed door, interrupting the moment.

"What is that?" Craig asked, tilting his head toward the noise.

"Six is putting her pants on," a short brunette chirped.

She adjusted her brown robes, yawned, and glanced about at the people who had just arrived. With a smile, she waddled over to Craig and gave him a hug. Joshua couldn't imagine his relief at being accepted back among his friends.

The door to the bedroom opened to reveal another woman. She fit Craig's description of Six perfectly, and judging by the flood of emotions on her face at seeing her friend, this had to be the Courier. Without hesitation, the woman hurried over to Craig and embraced him tightly, mumbling apologies into his chest.

"No," Craig protested, "I should be apologizing. You shouldn't say you're sorry just because you don't like conflict. I said terrible things to you."

Six stood back and looked him in the eyes.

"Friends?" she asked.

"Of course," he smiled.

The Courier led Craig into the kitchen, the others following close behind until only the Legionaries remained. Graham waited for them to make a move. If he wasn't welcome there, then he would leave, no questions asked. He was done with conflict.

"He's sober," Vulpes smirked, nodding in the direction of the kitchen.

Graham shrugged. Helping Craig was the Lord's work, not his. He was merely the instrument.

"Sometimes," Joshua remarked, "things that happen in a man's life can change him permanently."

Vulpes grunted and nodded in agreement. Whatever baggage he carried, Joshua knew he wouldn't be let in; there was too much history between them. But Vulpes seemed at ease, and the Praetorians let down their guard, if only a little. Graham noticed the shorter guard slip up, his eyes drifting over to give Vulpes and the other guard an appreciative glance. He couldn't help but chuckle; after all the time Caesar spent attempting to stamp out certain things, they sprang up under his very nose.

Vulpes perked up at the sight of the Courier returning into the hallway. Though he was clearly enchanted, clearly wanted her attention, Six turned her gaze toward Graham instead.

"Hi," she smiled, "I'm Six. Who are you?"

Such curiosity and ignorance, though dangerous, was refreshing. New, bold ideas were what the Mojave needed, and without previous experiences to tell Six that she couldn't make a difference, things changed for the better.

"Joshua Graham," he replied, "he-who-shall-not-be-named, apparently."

"Probably me too," Vulpes chimed in.

"You don't think he'd do that, would you?" the shorter Praetorian asked.

"Butcher would probably just kill anyone who mentioned me until they figured it out," he snorted.

The Courier linked her arm in Vulpes' and led him toward the kitchen. Graham had to reconcile the fact that the wonderful things that Craig told him about Fox had been Vulpes, and he wondered how much of it had been an act. From the quick time that he had seen him, Joshua believed that Vulpes was, as Craig said, head over heels for Six. The Courier wore Vulpes' mark as well, though Craig told him that she refused Fox's advances. Perhaps, she knew what she was getting into with Vulpes, and intended to keep him at arms' length. He wouldn't know until he observed more.

Graham followed the group into the kitchen, prepared to be an outside observer to their group. He sat at the far end of the room, away from everyone else and the suspicious stares of the Legionaries.

"Gotta ask," Craig frowned, "What were you doing?" He stared straight at Vulpes.

"Ideally," Vulpes sighed, "you would have joined us. You all would have."

Craig snorted and shook his head, earning a smile from Vulpes.

"I know that would be your response," Vulpes continued, "so I would have those who resisted executed quickly."

"I doubt Caesar would have gone for that," Graham interjected.

Vulpes smirked and chuckled, his prideful expression reminiscent of the man he had known before.

"I have my way," he replied, "with anyone I want. Regardless, when I heard Boone, I expected a fight."

Craig sighed deeply and stared at the floor, his hands clasped.

"I might have," he admitted, "but I'd be a hell of a hypocrite if I did."

Graham couldn't help but feel touched, that Craig considered what happened with the White Legs and decided to stay his hand. It seemed that they learned together, and he couldn't be more grateful. This brought to mind more personal things that he had to ask, in order to hopefully close a chapter in his life once and for all.

"So, Caesar is dead," Joshua remarked, "If I may ask, how did that happen?"

"Rocket to the face," Vulpes replied, his eyes un-focusing as he stared at Six. A smile drifted across his face, and it was safe to say that he felt no pain. Graham wondered what it was like.

"Butcher is in charge now," one of the praetorians grumbled.

Joshua nodded. He never met the man called Lanius; all he knew were the rumors, same as the next man. But the rumors were on par with what appeared to happen to Vulpes, and he wondered what exactly happened. Perhaps he would find out in the coming days.

Until then, he was content to start his life over again.


	54. Chapter 54

A/n: Oh my goodness, life has been moving so fast for me. Thank you everyone who has been reading and reviewing! Seeing the hits go up and getting that little (1) in my inbox is so encouraging. So sorry for the long delay in updates. Life has been very up and down lately.

* * *

><p>Graham tried to ignore what was going on under the table, but Six's hand had drifted down there a second ago, and Vulpes had a strange look on his face. The presidential suite was crowded with Joshua's group's arrival, the beds and couches loaded to capacity. For some, this closeness would be overwhelming, but to members of organizations like Craig, Arcade, Veronica, and the Legionaries, it was normal. Joshua had gotten used to it as well, and was used to accidentally seeing moments of intimacy in close quarters. But, under the table while everyone was eating was certainly no accident.<p>

To his right, Cass made a show of accidentally dropping her fork on the floor. She bent down under the table to retrieve it, and Joshua heard her awed voice utter the Lord's name in vain. Sighing, Joshua turned his eyes back to his scripture.

The words blurred and melted together, and he blinked, backing up from the page. Frowning, Graham pushed the book further away until he could see the words. Still, it was difficult, given that it was about three and a half feet away.

Across from him, Vulpes batted the Courier's hand away and leaned in until his face was over the book. Over the past few days, his antics ranged from amusing to annoying as the doctor medicated him for pain.

"Need reading glasses?" Vulpes asked.

Graham peered into his pinpoint pupils and sighed, unable to deny it any longer.

"I'm sure we can dig up a pair," Arcade offered, "if not in a guest room of this casino, then the Followers could set you up. Reading glasses are surprisingly common."

"There are glasses in the room," Six offered, "and some up in Yes Man's room."

She stood from the table and headed toward her room, intent on retrieving a pair. As Six stepped by Vulpes, his hand shot out to pinch her rear. Graham really hoped she knew what kind of man Vulpes truly was, the things he had done, and the things he would do in a heartbeat.

"I have a question for you," Marcus frowned, "Why did you do it?"

"Do what?" Graham asked, noting how Vulpes stared at the praetorian in waiting.

"You lied to everyone," Marcus continued, "about Caesar, about Mars. You started everything."

Vulpes smiled at the praetorian and appeared to be struggling to keep from laughing.

"I have remorse for that which I have done," Joshua sighed. He had nothing more he to say. Graham regretted everything he did in the Legion; the lies, the slaughter, the hundreds of crimes. If Marcus wished to be angry with him, then he would understand it.

Still, there was the mischievous twinkle in Vulpes' eyes that made Joshua wonder what was so funny. He certainly didn't find this amusing.

"And I perpetuated it," Vulpes chuckled.

"You perpetuated it?" Joshua repeated.

"Yes," he nodded, "I knew who Edward Sallow was. I knew he was not who he claimed to be, and I did nothing and told no one."

Graham blinked and shook his head at Vulpes. Caesar had gotten that close to him, that he would tell him his greatest secret. He knew that they were close – two dirty-minded men after each other's own heart – but always figured that Caesar would keep Vulpes at arm's length.

"I guess I'm just handsome enough to get a pass," Vulpes continued, "right Marcus?"

The praetorian flushed red and stared down at the floor, his fists clenched. And while Vulpes was busy being smug from being correct, the Courier stood in the doorway shaking. Quickly, she ran forward and deposited a handful of glasses in front of Graham.

"So, that whole town you slaughtered?" Six asked, "that wasn't in the name of God like you acted it was. At least then I could pretend it wasn't for fun." She darted out of the room in a fury, a ding signaling that she entered the elevator.

Vulpes protested and attempted to stand unaided. It took a tremendous effort to come to his feet without the aid of the other Legionaries who didn't do as much as make a move to help him.

"I'm sure you know what a Pyrrhic victory is, Vulpes," Joshua called.

He watched as Vulpes left to pursue Six and crossed his arms. The Vulpes he knew from before wouldn't have bothered to patch things up with the woman.

Perhaps, there was hope for him yet.

* * *

><p>He waited impatiently for the elevator to come back down to the presidential suite, his finger mashing the button every few seconds. Vulpes couldn't believe that Six ran off on him without allowing him to say anything. He could smooth this over perfectly if she gave him the chance.<p>

Finally, the elevator opened in front of him. Stepping in, Vulpes figured that Six was simply upset with the idea that he treated Nipton as if it was business. Perhaps he didn't place the same value on lives as she did; if he did, he wouldn't have survived as a legionary. So, he would tell her that it was just business.

The elevator doors opened at the cocktail lounge. Six sat in a booth, hugging her knees and staring out at the desert. He took a moment to admire her from across the room, taking in the cascade of curly black hair down her back, the swell of her large hips tucking in sharply at the waist then flaring back out at her rib cage. She was beautiful, and he was still turned on from her earlier antics in the kitchen. This place was private and full of interesting places he could prop her up on and have his way with her.

"So," Vulpes coughed, "under the table?"

She turned slightly at the sound of his voice, but refused to show him her face.

"What about it?" Six sniffed.

"Doing things like that in front of everyone is considered highly improper," he chuckled.

"I know," she replied.

Vulpes blinked, not expecting that kind of response.

"Why, then?" he asked.

"It was naughty," she giggled, her face turning red. Six stretched her legs out on the booth, laying her head against the back of the seat.

He stepped down the stairs to the table and wrapped his arms around her from behind. Six smelled enticing, and he leaned down to nibble on her ear before kissing her neck.

"Why Nipton?" she asked, staring out the window.

Vulpes paused for a moment then renewed his effort. He leaned in, pressing himself into her back, his hand snaking underneath her shirt.

"It was naughty," he panted. His tongue darted out to trace the shell of her ear.

Six batted him away and whirled around. Her face was red, as were her eyes; Vulpes had never seen her so furious. Pouting, Vulpes moved in to embrace her, but she crossed her arms. He hugged her anyway and felt the pull of the scabs on his back as he tried to hold her, crossed arms and all.

"I was following orders," he insisted.

"So?" Six huffed, "you slaughtered a town! Doesn't that seem wrong to you?"

She pushed back and out of his embrace to stare him in the eye. Six refused to let him touch her; she was truly angry. But what was he supposed to do? Should he apologize for something he didn't feel he had to?

"When I am given a mission," Vulpes replied, "I don't bother myself with right or wrong. Nobody does."

Six grew quiet and stared at the floor.

"And thinking back on it, was it wrong?" she asked.

"I don't think back on it," he lied, "Nipton was necessary for my cause. Besides, you've done things necessary for your cause. You killed House, as well as others."

Her eyes were huge as she snapped her attention to him.

"I didn't kill House," she gasped.

Vulpes blinked in shock and stared down at her.

"So, what happened to him?" he asked.

The Courier's chin began to quiver, and Vulpes put his hand on her shoulder.

"What happened to him?" he repeated.

"I disconnected him from the mainframe," she cried, "and put him back in the container."

"So he suffocated?" Vulpes chuckled.

The panicked look on her face made him wish that he hadn't come up with that idea.

"We've gotta check," she gasped, grabbing his hand and dragging him back to the elevator.

And as they rode their way down, Vulpes wondered if he could quickly have his way with her.

* * *

><p>Six huffed as she smacked Vulpes away from her. She was still mad at him, and she didn't want him all over her. She did, however, take it as a sign that he was feeling better. But he still had a horrible sense of timing, and she wasn't going to let him off the hook, even though what he was doing to her neck felt amazing.<p>

The elevator doors opened, saving her from him. Six stepped into the kitchen, and everyone turned to look at her. No, she hadn't made up with Vulpes. Yes, everything was going to be awkward for a while, but the Courier wasn't going to just let things slide.

It wasn't that she was about to change Vulpes, or to try to grudge him into lying about his wrongdoing. Someone told her once that true repentance came from the heart, and it was a sin to lie out an apology when you didn't feel sorry. Vaguely, she remembered taking that advice to mind, and didn't apologize for things she didn't feel bad about. It seemed like that was something that Vulpes already knew; he didn't apologize for what he felt wasn't wrong. A part of her wanted to give him a pass on it, for some reason.

She shook the thoughts from her head as Vulpes returned into the kitchen, the click of him closing his revolver's cylinder causing everyone to look up.

"You're not going to shoot him, are you?" Six asked, nodding toward the pistol.

"That's exactly what I intend to do," Vulpes replied. He holstered the weapon in the belt that kept his baggy jeans from falling off.

"And what if he doesn't want to be shot?" she growled. He was being absolutely ridiculous, once again.

"He's been disconnected from his network," Vulpes replied, "at the best case scenario, we have a two-hundred year old man on life support that has nothing to do but lie in bed, thinking. There is no life left for House to live."

"House?" Boone asked, "He's alive?"

Six stared at the floor in shame. He was alive because she didn't have the guts to take care of him herself. She betrayed him, saw him, and then left him to rot in his container without any company. Perhaps, she was a bad person. She certainly hadn't thought of what House would have wanted.

"Maybe," Vulpes shrugged, "we won't know until we check."

"Just a very few can come with," Six frowned, "I don't want to treat him like some kind of show."

"And he isn't?" Vulpes asked.

Her jaw dropped in shock. Mr. House was a person, not an animal. This was not a zoo. But she had treated House like a sort of freak, and hadn't given him the decency of allowing him to choose what he wanted. She stuffed him back into his corner, where she could forget about him and go on her way.

Vulpes stepped in closer to her to tell her something quietly.

"If you really believe that everyone has a right to live," he murmured, "then they should have a right to die as well. You know my pistol will take care of it quickly."

She swallowed and nodded.

"Let's make this respectful then," Six sighed.

The Courier left the room, with Vulpes and Boone close behind. Wordlessly, they entered the elevator and took it up to the penthouse. With each second, Six tried to keep everything together, but as she looked down at her hands, she noticed that they were shaking. She told herself not to cry.

The elevator dinged and opened, and she was the last one to step out into the suite. Six waited to follow Vulpes and Boone, but quickly realized that she was the only one who knew where House was. She stepped out in front of them, and led them down the stairs into Yes Man's chamber.

"Hello!" the bot greeted, "it's good to see you've got all of your friends together, just like you wanted. I knew everything would work out!"

Six nodded and stared at the false panel that led to House's chamber.

"Is House still alive?" she asked. She hoped beyond all hope that he wasn't. She didn't want to deal with this.

"Yep!" Yes Man chirped, "Since you put him back in the chamber, his support systems have been fully operational. I didn't bother to do anything with him, since he's harmless as is. Besides, I figured you had plans for him."

"I forgot he was there," the Courier admitted.

The false panel opened, along with the next series of panels that led down to House's secret chamber.

"Well," the bot chuckled, "I guess you remembered now. He might like some company, since he's been laying there all by himself in a helpless state for a long time without his network to spy on Vegas. A man could go insane like that, ya know?"

Six nodded and felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to look at Boone, his concerned gaze steeling her for what they had to do. Leading on, the Courier stepped into the hidden room and into the elevator that led down to House's bunker. When the elevator opened, Six saw that everything was as she left it, with the sealed container at the end of the long platform. The smell coming from the area reminded her of an old person, only multiplied.

"He's over there," Six frowned. Her voice sounded loud to her own ears as she pointed toward House's container.

Vulpes nudged his way between the Courier and Boone, approaching the console. Six watched as he scrolled through the menus on the bright screen.

"We could sanitize the chamber with electricity," he remarked, "That would take care of him permanently."

Six shook her head violently; that wasn't even an option. Vulpes merely shrugged and ordered the terminal to open the chamber.

A hiss sounded as a mist began to form around House's container. Through the fog, Six saw the outline of the container moving and raising House's bed so he could look in the direction of the elevator. The mist settled quickly, revealing the shriveled husk that was House.

Six heard Boone swear under his breath behind her as Mr. House opened his cloudy eyes. She wondered if they had sight, or if they were only capable of sensing light.

"And she brings part of her harem to do her dirty work," House coughed.

The Courier was about to protest, but Vulpes stepped forward to examine the two-hundred year old man. He walked around the chamber that housed and sustained him, poking and prodding at the tubes and wires that ran all around the platform.

"Your animal brain couldn't understand the science involved in sustaining me," House grumbled.

Vulpes laughed and grabbed a tube that had a yellow fluid in it.

"I know this is a catheter," he replied, "and if I ripped it out, it would hurt." He grabbed another tube. "This gives you oxygen, and removing it would suffocate you. I could systematically destroy you, one tube and wire at a time. Would you like that?"

Six was reminded of a coyote playing with a mole rat before killing it. Seeing a reminder of what Vulpes was and what he could do was nauseating.

"Stop being mean," she said. Promptly, he dropped the chord that he held and made his way back to her. She shouldn't have been surprised that he listened so intently to her, but it was still a shock, given his incredibly stubborn streak.

"Memento mori," Vulpes nodded, "but then again, I suppose you have had plenty of time to do that."

"Where did you learn that?" House asked, "Indulge me."

"I am the former head of Caesar's Frumentarii," Vulpes shrugged, "and now that I've told you, I have to kill you."

House didn't find the old spy cliché funny in the least.

"And you knew this all along?" he asked, eying Six.

"Not all along," she replied, "and it had no effect on my decisions anyway."

Vulpes drew his pistol from his belt, his jeans inching downward with the movement. There was a red impression on his hip from the revolver. He hadn't worn a shirt in weeks, and even beat up, Vulpes still looked really good. The Courier tore her eyes away before she got caught staring.

"Shall we give him a choice as to the means of his death?" Vulpes asked, casually motioning with his revolver toward the incapacitated man.

"We didn't even ask him if he wanted to die," Six insisted.

Vulpes stared at her, blank-faced. It seemed to take him a while to collect his thoughts. Had she said something stupid again? Six was at the point where she didn't care.

"You don't ask an enemy if they want to die," he replied, "they picked the side opposite to yours; upon capture, their death should be guaranteed." House watched the weapon wave around with each gesture Vulpes made. "Unless you want to have him beg for death," Vulpes continued, "in that case, you're a dirty, dirty girl."

"I do not!" Six gasped.

"That's essentially what you're doing," Vulpes shrugged. Their eyes met, and Six was instantly reminded that he was on painkillers and his mouth filter was completely gone. Still, the things he said reflected what he thought when he wasn't on them. Despite the fact that she cared for him, he had a wicked streak. Six wondered how he could love her, given that they were so different.

Vulpes was right, in a strange way. Asking House if he wanted to be shot was like essentially asking him to beg to be killed.

"I at least want your consent," Six said, "so I know for certain that I'm not murdering you."

A laugh came from House's dry throat, as bitter and worn as the Mojave that he tried to conquer.

"You murdered me the day you broke into this chamber," House coughed.

Vulpes raised the pistol to take the shot, but Six grabbed his arm. Wordlessly, she took the weapon from his hands; this was her job, not his. Six stared down the barrel and peered into House's old eyes.

Killing Caesar was easier; she reached out with her securitrons, blowing him up without a second thought. Had she been in front of him, Six wasn't sure if she would have been able to go through with it. But this killing was out of mercy; the machines could sustain House for an almost infinite amount of time like they had in the past. He would be alone, locked in a tank, unable to move for the rest of his life.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," Six whispered.

She pulled the trigger and was unprepared for the pistol's massive recoil. It jammed her wrist backward, making the Courier almost drop it. She should have used her own gun, but at the same time, she felt that she deserved the pain.

As Boone asked her if she was okay, Vulpes took the weapon back. Six nodded quietly; she would be okay, eventually.

"If you're going to lead this place as its own nation," Vulpes nodded, "you've got to grow a pair, and fast. This was an excellent step toward that goal. I can suggest, but I will never decide for you."

"You'll have to do uncomfortable things," Boone agreed, "but we're here for you when you have to make decisions."

It was then that Six noticed the world again. She saw the corpse of Robert House, his head nearly disintegrated from being shot at point blank with a .44. She felt his splatter on her as a hand gently ushered her back toward the elevator.

When they arrived back at the penthouse, Yes Man's congratulations fell on deaf ears. Six wasn't in the mood to celebrate, and felt it inappropriate to do so. Boone's arm wrapped around her shoulder, pressing her onward to the elevator that would take her back.

She needed a shower. Six felt dirty, inside and out.

* * *

><p>Canyon Runner glanced across the room to steal a glance at Cassidy, only to be caught. She made a show of stretching and popping her back, thrusting her breasts outward in an attempt to get attention. It was unnecessary; she already had his attention.<p>

Vulpes stepped into the kitchen, his skin reddened from being cleaned. His pistol finished the job with House permanently; the amount of destruction it did would be impossible for House's machines to repair.

"How'd it go?" Veronica asked, watching as Boone entered as well.

"Her hand's going to be sore," Boone remarked, "not sure if that or her heart will feel better first. She's not the killing type."

"A .44 isn't a gun for a woman," Marcus shrugged, "besides, both the gun and killing take practice."

Canyon Runner looked at the floor in shame. A .44 was too much gun for him as well; he would always be at the bottom of the pile. That fact hadn't bothered him, because he knew his place. But his world changed, and Canyon Runner still felt like he was the least. Was this to be his place here as well?

Vulpes removed his pistol from where it had been tucked into his belt in order to clean it, and Canyon Runner watched as Cassidy eyed him. If Vulpes wanted her, he knew that he could have her. Thankfully, the other man's interests lie in Six. It still didn't do much to quell the anxiety Canyon Runner felt as he watched Cassidy lusting after Vulpes.

He was the opposite of Vulpes in every way. Canyon Runner was plain, his skin, hair, and eyes all a similar shade of brown. Though these were the traits of the Blackfoot tribe, Canyon Runner didn't carry them well like Marcus. He was short, possibly shorter than Cassidy – he hadn't been close enough to her to be sure – and it was a trait that was shameful for a man. His looks, along with his intellect, were average at best.

Canyon Runner watched as Cassidy quickly removed her hat and pushed red tendrils of hair away from her face. He wished that she would keep the hat off, and wished that she would let her hair down. A blush crept across his face as she caught him staring again and gave him a genuine smile.

"How old are you?" she asked.

"Twenty," Canyon Runner replied, hoping that somehow his answer would please her.

Vulpes coughed and looked at Cassidy. Her face was turning red.

"Cradle robber," Vulpes accused. Canyon Runner didn't understand the expression; he was plenty old enough to have a woman, if he was allowed. Men in his position didn't usually get such privileges.

"I'm not old," she grumbled, "I'm thirty-seven."

He couldn't believe his ears. Cassidy couldn't be thirty-seven, not with how she looked. Vulpes didn't reply to her, stood, and made his way out of the room.

In that second, Canyon Runner made a decision. Cassidy was too old to catch the eye of most men, and that put him at an advantage. There were only two obstacles in his way: Vulpes, his superior, and Arcade, Cassidy's male guardian. He stood and left the kitchen, intent on asking Vulpes for permission to pursue Cassidy.

Canyon Runner found him at the end of the hallway, leaning on the doorframe to the bathroom. As Vulpes stared into the room, there was a look on his face that he hadn't seen before. Canyon Runner wondered what caused it, and called out to him. There was no reply.

"How do you carry those?" Vulpes asked, nodding toward whoever was in the bathroom.

"How do you carry yours?" Six replied from inside the bathroom.

Vulpes coughed and shifted against the door.

"It's a bit uncomfortable at the moment," he chuckled.

Canyon Runner approached the doorway and immediately saw what had distracted Vulpes. He was rooted to the spot, and saw why Cassidy was perceived as second to the Courier.

"You should shut the door," Vulpes told her, glancing back at Canyon Runner.

Six looked up from washing her hair in the sink and walked toward them, drops of water running down her bare breasts.

"They're just boobs," she chuckled, "besides; you're the one that opened the door."

With that, the door to the bathroom closed in Vulpes' face. Vulpes stepped back and blinked in shock; apparently, he wasn't invited.

"I'm sorry," Canyon Runner blurted, though whether it was from accidentally seeing his woman topless, or Vulpes' apparent rejection, he wasn't sure.

"So long as you know that those are mine," he shrugged, "we'll have no problems."

Canyon Runner supposed now was as good a time as any. He took a deep breath and steeled himself for the question he was about to ask.

"My interests are elsewhere," Canyon Runner replied.

"Really?" Vulpes gasped, "I couldn't tell."

That had to be impossible. There was no way that Vulpes couldn't see his attraction to Cassidy. Unless, he was joking with him.

"What are you doing out here with me?" Vulpes murmured, keeping his voice quiet so the others wouldn't hear him. He pointed in the direction of the kitchen and nodded. "She's in the other room."

"Asking your permission," Canyon Runner replied, adding in a 'sir' to make sure that Vulpes understood that he knew his place.

He didn't expect the hand smacking him on the back of his head in reprimand, and he tried not to wince. Vulpes corrected him as if he was a child; Canyon Runner supposed that perhaps, Vulpes wanted both women. It made sense, after all; Vulpes had a notorious appetite for women. If he wanted two, then Canyon Runner would have to step aside.

Before he could apologize, Vulpes grabbed his wrist and led him into the Courier's bedroom, shutting the door behind them. Canyon Runner was grabbed by the shoulders, the much taller man staring down at him. This face was the last thing that many had seen before they were slaughtered.

"If you ask me anything about Cass," Vulpes said, "then you should ask advice. You do not ask me permission to do anything, ever. You answer to nobody; you are a true free man, and if you don't act like it, that woman in there is going to lose interest fast." He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the kitchen.

"She's interested in me?" Canyon Runner asked, his eyes wide, "she seems to look at you often."

"I haven't worn a shirt in weeks," Vulpes replied, "and my pants can barely stay up. Of course she looks at me. She's shameless."

Canyon Runner frowned. He knew she was a shameless woman that slept around, as well as drank often. But he was drawn to her wildness, and knew that she acted out to hide the true, kind woman underneath. He had seen it before with captures.

"You make that woman blush and smile," Vulpes sighed, "which, with a woman that jaded, is a feat. Do not mess this up."

Vulpes gave him a quick pat on the shoulder, pushing him toward the door. Canyon Runner took that as his dismissal and headed toward the kitchen.

"And don't you dare ask Arcade for permission," Vulpes remarked, right before he left the room.

Canyon Runner nodded. It was the last order he would obey.

* * *

><p>Arcade glanced at the clock, and was shocked. There was no way that he read that late. Perhaps, it was broken. A look down at his watch told him that he was wrong; it was indeed late enough that he should think of going to bed, but he wasn't ready.<p>

He told himself that he would just read one more page, but Arcade knew that he was a terrible liar. Everyone was winding down for bed, except for him. He had to stop bargaining with himself and just put the book away, maybe. But he would just get to the end of this section, so he would have a good stopping point. With that, Arcade proposed to do just that and continued to read.

"Rex and I are sleeping in the penthouse," Six called.

Arcade looked up from his book and frowned. That was very unexpected. Then again, with everything that happened earlier in the day, he supposed that the Courier was just drained. Shrugging, Arcade began to read again as he heard the elevator open and close. It wasn't more than a few minutes before he saw something out of the corner of his eye.

Vulpes peeked into the kitchen and motioned for him to follow him, stating that he had a medical question. Sighing, Arcade put his book to the side and stepped out into the hallway.

"I want to go somewhere private," Vulpes frowned.

Arcade nodded, ushered him into the elevator, and pushed the button to bring them to the cocktail lounge. Vulpes didn't wait for them to make it to the top before blurting out his question.

"How do I fix this?" he asked.

The doctor blinked and stepped back.

"Your back will be fine in time," he replied, "though some loss of sensation is expected."

A glare sent Arcade back against the wall, holding his arms up in defense. Apparently, his deflecting response wasn't going to cut it.

"Look," he sighed, "this isn't something you just fix. She's upset."

Vulpes frowned and glared at the elevator doors as they opened. The pair stepped out into the jungle that the cocktail lounge had become.

"This is about him," he replied, "isn't it?"

Him? As in House?

"It's probably a bunch of things," Arcade responded, "House is probably only part of it."

Vulpes leaned over the counter as much as his back could afford and ran his hands through his hair, grumbling about how he needed to cut it.

"So, she stands around topless talking to me," he growled, "flirts with me, then shuts the door in my face. And later, she decides to put hundreds of feet of concrete and steel between us when we sleep."

Arcade swallowed thickly. Six was really playing with fire with Vulpes. She had to know that.

"Unfortunately, I have no idea," he replied, "it could be she's upset about House. She could still be mad at you from your argument this morning. Or, she's not ready. You know that regardless of what she's done in her past life, she's technically a virgin."

He wondered if he shouldn't have said something about the last part, given the grin that spread across Vulpes' face. Based on that reaction, there was no way that Arcade was going to mention that Six probably still didn't love him back, and that she didn't want to lead him on.

Vulpes pursed his lips and stared at the floor.

"I am inordinately angry with Six for denying me," he frowned, "and there is a strong part of me that has the urge to find a willing partner from anywhere, even if that means going out onto the Strip."

"You'd get shot," Arcade replied. He received nothing more than a shrug in response.

"I've also considered going after Marcus," Vulpes admitted.

"You'd get slowly strangled," Arcade chuckled, attempting to inject humor into the situation. He really wanted to know why everyone seemed to spill their problems and secrets on him.

Vulpes turned to glare at him. He wanted to be a coward, and wanted to just pretend this conversation never happened. He wasn't a people person, and until recently, he hadn't even been the kind to have friends. Until Arcade learned that Vulpes was a legionary, he counted him among his friends. However, his impression of the man had been irrevocably tainted. But at the same time, he helped nurse him back to health, and swore to help people no matter who they were. Could he continue to help this man, who was a war criminal? Arcade could choose to ignore him, or play stupid and put him off. But was he that callous?

Vulpes stared at him, waiting for him to say something. This man was his friend, regardless of his former affiliation.

"But you are in love with Six," Arcade replied, "that means something, right?"

Vulpes was silent as he refused to answer the question. By the second, Arcade grew suspicious. Did he just want in the Courier's pants? Because if so, that was not okay.

"I have worries," Vulpes admitted, "one is that I do not love her, and that when I finally have her, I will want no more to do with her, like all the others. The second is worse. What if I am incapable of being monogamous? For months, I was the Butcher's personal pleasure slave. I didn't want any of it, but I loved it at the same time. This made me realize that there was an issue. Am I incapable of devotion? Granted, after she took over Vegas, I felt I would never see her again. But there was the healer, and the unavoidable affair with the Butcher, and –"

"Stop," Arcade ordered.

He had never seen Vulpes in such a state of mental disarray. But what could he do to help? He was in over his head with this. Arcade already thought of a very probable cause for this worry; the Legion made slaves of women, and told men that they were better than them. A man could use a woman however he saw fit. Commitments didn't exist in the Legion. But he had to be sure that this was the cause.

"We need to get to the root of the problem," he mused, "What was your first time like?"

Vulpes froze, the look on his face reminiscent of a veteran's thousand-yard-stare. Arcade had the distinct feeling that he wasn't going to like what he heard.

"I was six," Vulpes mumbled, his voice barely more than a whisper. "My instructor took me into the house after training and showed me."

Arcade wanted to tell him that he was sorry, but he knew that pity wouldn't go very far. Vulpes came to him for help, and he would have to be strong. He couldn't fall apart when his patient's life – his friend's life – was dissolving before him. Being molested could also very well explain his apparent promiscuity.

"That's more than a probable cause," he replied, his voice gentle. "Perhaps that has caused a desire to hold other partners at arms' length. I wish I had answers for you right now, but I don't know where to begin."

Vulpes nodded slowly, refusing to look him in the eye.

"I told Six," he said, "and she fell apart. In regards to my childhood, I have no sadness left to feel."

Then Arcade would feel sadness for him. Walling off emotions with such things was common.

"I'm going to ask you to do something mushy," Arcade smiled, "explore your feelings about Six. Don't think of the sexual side. Think of why you love her. It extends beyond physical attraction, doesn't it?"

He was putting the proverbial cart before the horse, but if Vulpes could adopt a healthier view of sexuality, then it was worth it. Besides, Arcade figured that Six had to feel something for Vulpes. She just hadn't figured it out yet.

* * *

><p>It took him a while to get used to the feeling of reading glasses tucked into the bandages near where his ears once were, but that didn't stop Graham from reading until his eyes burned. Vulpes had been rather perceptive of his predicament, and Six had been rather kind to hunt down a pile of glasses. The Courier even included a bunch of sunglasses in the group, an endearing mistake. She wasn't particularly smart, but she had heart.<p>

Truthfully, she was perfect for Vulpes. Her innocence, coupled with her morality, gave the Frumentarius something to think about. In fact, the woman was so inoffensive and sweet that he imagined even Edward had taken a liking to her; after all, they were engaged in the eyes of the Legion. He wondered if Six was aware of that fact.

Arcade stepped into the kitchen, looking tired. Graham enjoyed their conversations, but he was tempted to cut things off short and let he doctor sleep tonight.

"Let's go up to the cocktail lounge," Arcade smiled, "I don't want to possibly keep people up."

Graham lifted a brow and followed quietly. They had their talks in the kitchen every night since he arrived with Craig and Follows-Chalk, and nobody had complained; there had to be more behind this. He stepped into the elevator with the doctor, noting that the man was silent the entire way up. Arcade waited until they had exited the elevator and taken a seat at one of the few empty booths in the lounge before deciding to speak.

"I had one of those moments just now," he sighed, "where someone tells you way too much and you don't know what to do with it and you have to tell someone so that you can try to make sense of it all. And I know I'm probably about to do that to you but I have no idea how to deal with this because I don't know Vulpes that well."

Blinking, Joshua nodded and let the doctor speak his mind.

"When Vulpes came in," Arcade continued, "he hadn't just been flogged. From experience from my work in Freeside and seeing the other bruises and marks on his body, it's plain to see that he was raped. Coupled with the fact that everyone speaks poorly of this Lanius guy, it's easy to know who to point the finger at."

Graham nodded.

"Yes," he agreed, "many distasteful things come from the Legion. Those at the top prey upon those lesser than them."

"You don't know the half of it," the doctor sighed, "he's confused, and from what he briefly told me, I get the impression that it happened on more than one occasion. An 'unavoidable affair' is not what someone would call a single instance."

Joshua frowned and sighed. Edward was usually a good judge of character. But something about the Butcher must have dazzled him. Was it is strength? His cruelty?

There was a long pause as Arcade removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Graham waited for him to settle them back on his face, knowing that he had more to say.

"So we were talking about Six," he continued, "and out of stupid curiosity, I asked him what his first time was like. And he said he was molested by his instructor when he was six. I didn't think it could be as bad as that when I asked, and now I know too much."

Shock, rage, and shame all waged a war within Graham as he realized that this had been part of his Legion. He wondered if Edward ever knew of what happened, but supposed not. Being part of Caesar's elite club meant being as masculine as possible, without a care, worry, or issue.

"So," Arcade concluded, "the guy is molested as a child, beaten half to death as a teen, raped repeatedly as an adult, and then beaten half to death again. I'm sorry, but that's just too much bullshit for one person to have to live through."

Joshua nodded in agreement. But some of that had been reaping what Vulpes had sown; Arcade had to know that. Of course, the incidents that happened when he was a child wasn't part of that, but it did explain some of Vulpes' behavior; most notably, it explained his promiscuity.

"The shittiest part of it," the doctor grumbled, "is that when the guy finally falls in love, he's too confused to know that he's really in love, and too worried to know if he'll even be able to stay faithful. And like an idiot, I told him to search his feelings, even though Six has insisted on multiple occasions that she doesn't love him back."

Graham didn't know what to do with all of that information. He had never been close to Vulpes, and truthfully, didn't like him that much when he was part of the Legion. Edward would always whisk the young officer away into his tent to discuss things that he had made Vulpes read earlier on in the week. And when accidents started happening to the officers in the Frumentarii, Vulpes was always promoted to the next rank. He often wondered if those accidents were by design, and, if so, by whom.

"What do you want me to do with this knowledge?" Graham asked. Though horrified by the thought of young legionaries being molested, he had to think in the present.

"What's he going to do when Six keeps rejecting him?" Arcade asked, dodging the question. So, the doctor wanted information. This made sense; Arcade was very protective of the Courier.

"He's spoiled," Graham sighed, "and very ambitious. He'd have to be forcefully removed for him to get the message."

"He wouldn't rape her, would he?" the doctor gulped.

"I'm not sure," Joshua admitted, "legionaries breed. Not many have a concept of lovemaking. At the same time, Vulpes was the head of the frumentarii, and knows how the world operates outside the Legion. Coupled with his past experiences, I believe he may not."

The doctor visibly relaxed and put his head in his hands.

"Well, I'll be able to sleep better knowing that," he replied, "but tonight, I certainly won't, not after learning what I did today."

Graham nodded in agreement. He wouldn't sleep well for a while; he knew Vulpes' secret, and couldn't mention it.

All he wanted to do was help, and he was powerless to do so.


	55. Chapter 55

A/n: My xbox's dvd drive has broken. Looks like I'll be doing more writing and less Amalur while it gets repaired.

Also, this site is acting up horribly for editing this chapter. Please excuse the poor formatting.

WARNING: There is sexual content in the last section of this chapter, therefore, this chapter is NSFW

* * *

><p>He was up much earlier than everyone else was, but Follows-Chalk supposed it was his scout sense. Joshua had been pulled into late night discussions with Arcade, and that left both waking up later than the others. The praetorians were always up last, but he supposed that they were still on their guarding schedule. They did, after all, go to sleep much later than the others. Meanwhile, the injured Vulpes and his Courier seemed to be content to open their door much later in the morning.<p>

Canyon Runner awoke around the same time as him almost every day, and they made awkward conversation as they waited for their respective friends to wake up. While they learned about each other's worlds, they were hard pressed to find much in common, save the newness of Vegas.

The recruit legionary sat at the kitchen table, a sipping cold bottle of sunset sarsaparilla. Follows-Chalk watched how the man's fingers left marks in the sweat on the bottle. He always found this dew curious.

"The fridge is something nice, neh?" the scout chuckled.

"Yeah," Canyon Runner nodded, "we were always told that technology like that led to the bombs dropping. Now, I don't see how nice, cold water and well-kept food could do such a thing."

Follows-Chalk nodded in agreement. His tribe's taboos seemed part of the distant past, now that he saw life outside of Zion.

"Technology did cause the war," Vulpes called from the doorway. He was up much earlier, no doubt due to the fact that the Courier left him alone the night before.

"Put simply," he clarified, "the countries didn't have the resources to keep up their technology, and war broke out over those resources. The bombs were a final, desperate attempt to end the crisis."

A door opened in the hallway, and Veronica shuffled her way into the kitchen. She seemed tired every morning until she grabbed a cola, so Follows-Chalk didn't talk to her much until she was awake. The Scribe seemed to appreciate this.

Vulpes sat down at the table, and the small group that had nothing in common was silent. As Veronica sipped her drink, her eyes opened more, until she began to fidget because of the quiet.

"So, what's your favorite color?" Veronica asked, giving Vulpes a sideways glance.

Vulpes stared at her and blinked as if trying to comprehend the question.

"You know that color you see," he replied, "when you have an orgasm so good you almost black out? That one."

The Scribe coughed and shook her head.

"I thought it'd be a creative answer," she chuckled, "but that's not what I was expecting."

"Would it please you if I said something trite like 'the blood of my enemies'?" Vulpes smirked.

She shook her head in reply, stating that she liked him just fine the way he was. Follows-Chalk wasn't so sure; the Legionaries, Vulpes in particular, talked dirty very often. And as soon as one of them started, most everyone would join in. Where he was from, it wasn't polite to talk about a woman's – or man's – rear when they were in the room.

Vulpes had his hands in his hair again, playing with it as if he wasn't used to it. He turned to Canyon Runner and asked something in their Legion language. The recruit nodded, stood, and ran his hands through Vulpes' hair, attempting to get it to stick straight up. The thin, straight hair stood for a moment, then fell down in a pile, reminding Follows-Chalk of a toddler's hair. There was a quick reply where Canyon Runner shook his head, and Vulpes sighed, shrugged, and said something, making a chopping motion with his hands. Were they talking about a haircut? Follows-Chalk had a hard time believing that it could be something so mundane.

Behind them, the praetorians stepped into the room, their footsteps unnoticeable. It always struck Follows-Chalk as strange that the men could be so quiet, given their size. With his back turned, Vulpes hadn't even noticed them yet. Marcus took this opportunity to creep forward, his eyes focusing on something that Follows-Chalk couldn't decipher. In a second, the man's arm shot out to grab some of Vulpes' armpit hair, ripping it out.

For a moment, Vulpes sat, open-mouthed, slack-jawed, and gasping. The legionaries and Veronica laughed, while Follows-Chalk shook his head.

"Does he do this to you all the time?" Vulpes asked, nodding at Crassius. He rubbed the quickly reddening area in an attempt to ease the sting.

"No," Crassius replied, "there are strict consequences for such things." He stepped across the room, grabbed a cola out of the fridge, and sat down. Crassius gave Follows-Chalk a warm smile, something that always disarmed him. For such an accomplished killer, this man was as kind and gentle as an old dog.

Vulpes nodded and stared at Marcus with narrowed eyes as he plotted his revenge. As soon as the praetorian was close enough, Vulpes sprung up from his chair, grabbing the tail of the man's mohawk. They scuffled, each attempting to gain the advantage. Chairs fell over as they crashed about the room. In an instant, everyone who had been asleep was peering into the kitchen to look at what woke them up.

The struggle made Follows-Chalk think a child grabbing a brahmin tail, only to discover that the animal would not play along. Eventually, the child would be kicked.

"I'm going to hurt you if you don't let go," Marcus growled. Coming from one of Caesar's elite guards, the threat was very real, even to someone as skilled as Vulpes.

"Say you're sorry," Vulpes panted, obviously winded from his injuries.

"I'm sorry you're such a bitch," Marcus quipped, jabbing his elbow backward and narrowly missing Vulpes' side.

Six appeared in the doorway, watching the legionaries scuffle. She shook her head at them and frowned.

"Vulpes," she sighed, "you're going to reopen –"

Marcus hunched over and tugged hard, lurching Vulpes' arms forward. A loud gasp sounded and the praetorian's hair was released. Follows-Chalk winced as a small line of red bloomed on Vulpes' back, at the seam of where one of the large scabs met skin.

The Courier quickly grabbed Vulpes and sat him in a chair while Arcade left to grab a set of bandages.

"Look at what you did," Vulpes pouted, staring at Marcus. He turned to look at Six – her chest, rather – and pouted more. "He's been abusing me all morning."

Follows-Chalk knew the man's game and frowned when the Courier hugged Vulpes, her breasts squishing into the side of his head. While the doctor applied a set of what he called 'butterflies', Vulpes drew the Courier into his lap and kissed her on the cheek.

The Legionaries began to talk amongst themselves in their language, smiling and laughing. As soon as the bandaging was complete, Vulpes stood and made his way out into the hallway. The other Legion men followed, and the room was silent again. It was interesting how Caesar sought to destroy tribes, yet created his own unwittingly. Knowing others so similar had to be comforting to them as they learned about the world outside. For the first time, Follows-Chalk wished that he had something similar.

* * *

><p>The clippers made another pass, shaving off inches of fluffy hair. Though Six adored his hair longer, Vulpes couldn't stand the soft, child-like texture on his head. It had to go away; he didn't want to look like a boy any longer.<p>

In a moment, all that remained was the center of his hair, and Vulpes stood to look in the mirror. He turned his head in every direction, hoping that the mohawk would look good from at least one angle. Instead, he looked like a ragged teen from Westside. Despite Marcus' protests, Vulpes asked the rest to be cut as well. Canyon Runner shrugged, and the deed was done quickly.

Out in the hallway, the elevator opened, and Victor rolled into the suite. The bot poked its head into the kitchen, and told Six that there was a mob outside the Lucky 38, protesting that legionaries were being kept inside. Vulpes watched as Six followed Victor into the elevator to talk to Yes Man about fixing the situation.

Frowning, he stood from his seat and dusted the clipped hair off of his shoulders. Vulpes made his way into Six's room and rummaged through the small amount of belongings he had. He quickly shed the jeans he wore, stepped into his pturges, and fastened his boots. For a moment, he stared at the coyote mantle and shrugged, slipping it and the goggles over his head. Once dressed, he armed himself with his pistol and ripper, and made his way out to the elevator.

He promised Six the other day that he wouldn't tell her what to do, but merely suggest. His place here was to guide, to do when told to do, and to not do things for the state without her permission. But at the same time, Vulpes knew that he was the one that got Six into this situation. The people outside the Lucky 38 viewed the legionaries as war criminals, as men that should be tried and executed for being on the opposing side of the fight. But this wasn't NCR lands, and Vulpes had a strong suspicion as to the composition of the crowd. There was a very quick way he could get the people outside to move on.

Nobody saw him enter the elevator, and the ride down to the lobby was quick and silent. When the doors opened, Vulpes could hear the shouting as he stepped closer to the door to the Strip.

He put his hand on the door handle and cracked the door open. As soon as the crowd saw it open, they increased in volume. Shrugging, Vulpes opened the door all the way and stepped out onto the staircase. He was sure that he could get them to leave.

Shouts rose all around Vulpes as he searched the crowd. The faces of the mob were people he knew: Martina Groesbeck, the Gundersons, various women that he slept with, men that he chatted up while having drinks. If he didn't know their name, he at least knew their faces.

Vulpes came across the horrified face of Frumentarius Picus and smirked. The man had always been too smart, and must have gained knowledge that the Legion had been irrevocably changed. Self-preservation and intelligence won out in the face of duty, and Vulpes couldn't help but approve. Had he been in the same position, he would have never returned either.

The crowd continued to shout, telling him to remove his mask. Vulpes could certainly oblige them. He lifted his goggles and rested them against the mask's hollow eyes. The crowd went silent. Yes, he was one of them.

In the back, Victoria Gunderson went pale and collapsed into her husband in a dead faint. Vulpes would have laughed, if he didn't have a few dozen angry women screeching at him. Hadn't he treated them well? A tryst meant that neither party owed each other. But suddenly, because he was something different than he claimed to be, they felt as if they had the right to be angry over a one-night stand. It was their fault that they had poor judgment, not his. This was why Six was better than all of them; the truth hadn't changed her perception of him.

Vulpes raised his hands in an attempt to quiet them down, and it worked to a certain extent. They would be able to hear him, at least.

"If you're an NCR tourist," he started, "then leave. This doesn't concern you. This isn't your land."

His statement drew even more anger from the crowd, and he sighed. Some of the idiots still believed that this place was NCR territory. It never had been, and never would be.

Behind him, the door to the Lucky 38 burst open. Arcade darted out onto the stairs, frantically waving his arms. Vulpes must have shown his back to the crowd by accident, given their audible reaction.

"Vulpes, you idiot!" he screeched. The doctor gripped his arm by the elbow and attempted to pull him toward the casino.

"Vulpes?" a protester asked, "As in Vulpes Inculta?"

The ex-frumentarius couldn't help but sigh. Arcade truly ruined everything. He was sure he could have talked his way out of this, but now, his odds were incredibly slim. The roar of the crowd increased, and Vulpes was suddenly grabbed from the front. Arcade hauled him up over his shoulder in a surprising display of strength, grumbling about ensuring the safety of his patient.

They entered the casino, passing by Six and Yes Man. Not wanting Six to see him being carried in such a way, Vulpes struggled against the doctor's iron grip. After they entered the elevator, the doctor finally let go to administer another round of painkillers.

"You need rest," Arcade lectured, "if I have to tie you down to that bed, then I will."

"Promise?" Vulpes chuckled. The dose was much more than usual, and he couldn't help but suspect that this was done in order to control him.

There was no reply as the elevator opened. His limbs were sluggish, and Vulpes had the strong desire to go to bed. But he was directed toward the kitchen, where everyone sat, waiting for him. Marcus and Crassius gave him a disappointed glare, and Vulpes knew what was going on. They were going to sit him down and lecture him like a child.

"A man could think that you were trying to commit suicide," Boone scoffed, unknowing how close his words pierced to the heart.

Marcus shook his head and gave Vulpes a look that made him feel guilty. Thinking that only the legionaries could understand Latin, Marcus asked him if he was truly past his depression, or if they had to watch him again and take away the pistol. Though blunt, the words were full of concern, and Vulpes sighed. No, he wasn't like that anymore.

In the corner, Graham cleared his throat and looked down; he understood everything that had been said. Vulpes would have to make it a point later to let the other legionaries know. He wasn't sure how he felt about the Burned Man knowing of his personal demons. Did he see it as a weakness? Was his impression of him irrevocably tainted? Vulpes was too afraid to ask. He supposed that if it didn't ruin how he was perceived, he didn't really care.

The elevator dinged, and Six called out that they had company. She walked into the kitchen with her guests in tow, and Vulpes frowned. Benny had no reason to be there. Behind him were two ghouls; one was unmistakably familiar. Vulpes couldn't help but laugh out loud as Dean Domino looked at him in horror. After a moment, he snapped out of his stupor and became the ghoul that Vulpes remembered.

"You threatened me!" Dean shouted, pointing at him. Every eye in the room was on him, and they were no doubt wondering how the ghoul knew him.

"Shall I write you a note?" Vulpes sneered, "Should it say 'I'm sorry I threatened you', and have a sad face drawn at the bottom?"

He stood and approached the ghoul, noting how he winced and appeared ready to run at any given second. But there was nowhere for him to run, and Vulpes stopped right in front of him. He leaned in, causing the ghoul to back up.

"Toughen up," he spat.

Six rolled her eyes and offered the unwanted guests a seat. As Dean gave him a suspicious sideways glance, Vulpes figured that he made his point and made his way back to his chair. He stopped halfway to give Six a quick peck on the cheek.

Benny sat down and crossed his legs, accepting a drink from Cass. He nodded at Six and saluted her with the drink before taking a sip.

"So far, you're doing a great job," he nodded, "but, you really don't have a penal code set up for this, do ya, doll?"

Vulpes clenched his fist. Benny had better watch how he addressed Six. He wasn't sure how the fool escaped the praetorians, but he would make damn sure that his woman wouldn't be shot again.

Cass set a drink in front of the ghouls as well, chuckling as she did.

"Penal code," she drawled, "I'll just throw that out there. Penal code."

The corner of his mouth twitch and Vulpes fought the urge to crack a smile. He wasn't quite sure why he couldn't control his reactions, but then it hit him that he had been thoroughly drugged. Vulpes hoped that he had enough sense to at least control his mouth, lest it run off on him like it had in his prior recovery time.

"We're going to need to keep this meeting private," Six sighed, "So I have to ask that anyone who isn't part of the crowd's representatives or former legionaries to please leave."

Cass and Veronica shrugged, leaving the room. Just as Arcade passed Six, she grabbed his coat and told him that was a neutral party; he had to stay. The reluctant doctor sighed and sat down at the table next to Vulpes, who found himself on the receiving end of a pleading stare.

"Oh, no," Vulpes chuckled, "if I go against her, then I won't get all the good things I want in life." And it was true; if they argued again, he would most certainly spend another night alone, and that was completely unacceptable.

"Smart man," Benny nodded, "nothing's worse than an ornery dame."

Six cleared her throat and glared at both of them. Sighing, Vulpes realized that he would be hard pressed to be able to charm his way out of this mess. The Courier had toughened up considerably in their time apart.

"Here are my thoughts," Six frowned, "this isn't the NCR. To be blunt, we don't really care about Charlie or Searchlight. What we do care about, is Nipton and the plot with the Omertas, and the fact that the Legion was in direct opposition to New Vegas."

Vulpes sighed and fought the urge to roll his eyes. Nipton and the Omertas was just business; he was under orders.

"So," Benny drawled, "you did Charlie, Searchlight, Nipton, and some kind of plot here? You're quite a busy cat."

"I need you to tell us what happened to make you leave," Six sighed, giving Vulpes a pleading look. He shrugged; he wasn't going to go into detail unless it was absolutely necessary.

"The Butcher attempted to execute me," Vulpes replied, "and I was let down from the cross by Canyon Runner. He, Marcus, Crassius, and I made our escape from there. It was our hope to find safe refuge."

The other Legionaries nodded in agreement.

"And you quit the Legion?" Benny asked.

Vulpes laughed bitterly. There was no such thing as quitting the Legion, but he supposed that they had somehow done so.

"Being executed is quitting, in a way," he frowned.

"What I'm wondering," Six interjected, "is where you stand on what you've done."

Her eyes pierced into his, and Vulpes knew that his answer could separate him from her forever. But, what could he do? Should he apologize for something he felt no guilt over, or should he tell the truth? Perhaps, Six would like to make his decision for him.

"Would you like to hear the truth, or the answer?" he asked, returning her intense gaze. Vulpes watched as Six exhaled, steeling herself for her decision.

"The truth," she replied.

Vulpes nodded, expecting no less from her.

"Everything I have done," he replied, "was for Caesar. Never did I question; never did I bother with thinking through moral ramifications for what I did. I was the arm of Caesar. What I did, he did."

Her pursed lips told him that wasn't what she wanted him to say.

"But Caesar is dead," Vulpes continued, "so my contract with the Legion expired. I wish to lend my services to New Vegas instead."

It was quiet as each realized the weight of what he said.

"I will lend my skills as well," Marcus interjected. Crassius and Canyon Runner agreed as well.

Six smiled slowly, and Vulpes knew that he still had her. And surely the people would follow her desires. After all, she saved the Mojave from hostile takeover.

Benny shrugged and downed the last of his drink.

"The residents might buy that," he remarked, "but you'll have to do something to make them be more sure of you. Hiding up here won't help much, you know."

Vulpes nodded in agreement. If he had to do some menial tasks to show that he could be harmless, then so be it. He was sure that his skills could provide some help to the area.

"When Vulpes feels better," Six replied, "we will have them do something. Now we have to figure out what to say to the people outside."

"With my people," Benny offered, "I offer them one chance to screw up. If they screw up again, they're punished."

The Courier paused and stared at the table in thought. Vulpes knew what she was thinking, and though it was much more lenient than he would advise, he had to remember that whatever bit of mercy she came up with would help him in the long run.

Vulpes still loved her, and if he had to make nice with New Vegas to have her, then he would.

* * *

><p>Six exhaled and resisted the urge to pace as the elevator brought her and her company down to the bottom of the Lucky 38. Benny told her that everything would be fine, and that he would help her out with the Legionaries. She supposed he was being a good sport, since Marcus and Crassius had been in charge of his beatings when he was captured by the Legion. However, perhaps, Yes Man was involved in some way; that was much more likely.<p>

And why wouldn't Yes Man want the Legionaries around? After all, they were real, highly trained people that could ensure her safety. It was very beneficial to keep them, from a logical standpoint. But emotions didn't have logic, and Six hoped that Yes Man understood this and calculated it into the risk of doing something so bold.

"It's going to be okay, right?" she asked the bot, seemingly for the tenth time.

"Of course!" Yes Man chirped. It offered no further explanation, and Six was tempted to ask how it would specifically be okay. But Benny opened the door to the Strip; she was stuck going in blind.

The crowd shouted at her, demanding justice, and Six raised her hands so they would be quiet.

"We've discussed this thoroughly," she announced, "and have come to the conclusion that the Legionaries will be useful. They know tactics, and know how we can best defend the Mojave from invaders, among other skills –"

A section of the mob began to shout. They wanted Vulpes brought out to them, so they could bring him to justice.

"Can't you see he's been abused?" Six asked, "He's been punished already. He was whipped and crucified, and he's had a taste of his own medicine." Many shouted that they didn't care.

The Courier sighed and figured that she couldn't converse with them. She would have to tell them what the rules were, and leave it at that.

"We're implementing a two strike law," Six announced, "the first time a crime is committed and you are caught, and there will be punishment in the form of community service. The second offense warrants a strict punishment due to the nature of the crime."

"The Legionaries will be the first to do this," she continued, "and to be honest, I know that they want to help. I am sure that they won't cause any problems."

"That's not enough!" a man shouted, "What about Charlie? What about Searchlight?"

"That's the NCR's problem," Six replied, "and we're not them. I'm not giving a foreign invader what they want. And these Legionaries have renounced all ties, so they are not of an enemy state. They are exiles."

The rabble increased in volume, and Six began to grow angry. This was not the New Vegas she saved; the city she loved cared for everyone, and didn't judge because each had their own past. Perhaps these people were NCR; perhaps, they weren't and forgot how things used to be. It was no excuse for being this merciless.

"Does it bother you that the face of the Legion is human?" she shouted, "This is a city of hope, of promise, and of starting over. Some of you were barely getting by a few months ago. Some of you were addicted; some of you just needed a chance. This is what we are about: we are about giving people a chance at starting over."

People nodded in agreement, and Six sighed in relief. As long as she could get some to go along with her, then everything would be okay. A small section of the crowd grew louder, and Yes Man wheeled forward to address them.

"Those of you who are yelling," it chuckled, "have no say in this. I know everyone who comes and goes, and most of you are NCR citizens. If you'd like to have a say, then please renounce your NCR citizenship and provide proof of renouncement and residence in New Vegas. Now, Benny has volunteered to answer questions, as well as ask us questions that come up that he might not have an answer to. So you guys can have at him, if you want."

Benny laughed as dozens of people began to crowd him and shout questions. As the chairman directed everyone to the Tops with a smile, Six knew that they picked the right representative. Benny did love attention.

Six left him to the crowd with the confidence that he could help smooth things over. Sighing, she made her way back into the Lucky 38 with Yes Man. As they stepped into the elevator, Six crossed her arms.

"I know that I'm doing the right thing," she sighed, "and I know that they won't harm anyone. But I don't know if the people know that or will accept it, and it worries me."

What if she had to go against her own people to do the right thing? Was it still right, then?

"Stop worrying," Yes Man replied, "Everything will work out with this."

Six nodded and stepped into the suite. She trusted Yes Man, but he had been wrong about a few things before. It would be like sitting on pins and needles, waiting for everything to smooth over. In the meantime, she would focus on helping Vulpes get better. Yes Man already had a job lined up for them, and didn't tell Six what it was.

Poking her head into the kitchen, Six took a shaky breath and told everyone that they were safe. With that, she left as quickly as she arrived, and shut herself in her room. The Courier stepped forward and fell face first onto her bed. She just wanted to sleep her problems away and be by herself.

The sound of the door opening then closing made her heart sink. Couldn't she just be left alone?

"You didn't have to do that," Vulpes murmured, "not for us, and especially not for me."

She sighed and sat up to meet his gaze. From the look on his face, it was obvious to see that this troubled him. Vulpes sat down next to her on the bed, his hands folded in his lap. It was then that she noticed something was different about him.

"Your hair!" Six gasped. All of his beautiful shaggy hair had been shaved off. Yes, he looked more familiar, but she rather liked how his hair looked longer. The Courier put her hand on his head and rubbed the short, bristly strands. When it was this way, it was so fun to touch. With that in mind, she couldn't really decide which she liked better.

He leaned over to kiss the side of her neck, causing the hair on her arm to stand on end. With a shiver, Six realized that Vulpes always knew the right place to kiss. His breath danced across her jaw, stirring the fine hairs to the side of her ear.

"You know how I feel," he whispered, "let me show you."

They were back at this again, and Six found herself growing tired of the games. The Courier sat back to give him a level stare. If he wanted this, then she was not about to trick him. Vulpes sat up as well, his expression serious.

"I care about you," Six sighed, "but I don't love you."

There was a brief flash of hurt in his eyes before he gave her a small grin.

"You don't have to be in love to have sex," Vulpes shrugged.

This was true; according to rumors, he had done this hundreds of times. And before Six found out that he loved her, she planned on doing all sorts of things with him.

"How I feel hasn't changed," he added, "but I will take whatever you want to give me."

As long as he knew where they stood, she was fine with whatever he wanted to do. Shrugging, Six made her way to the door and locked it.

* * *

><p>The cocktail lounge became their place, an oasis of green among flashing lights and desert. While some of the plants had been moved outside, the Courier couldn't part with others. Cassidy – Cass, he corrected himself – was a jewel of red in a sea of green. Canyon Runner watched as she removed her hat to slick back the small tendrils of hair that hung about her face.<p>

"Why don't you let down your hair?" he asked.

They sat next to each other on a bench, staring out at the Mojave and watching as the sun set. Cass stretched, and for a while, he wondered if she was going to ignore his question. But she turned her eyes to him, and he was dumbfounded that she would bother with him. Perhaps, she needed a little bit of reassurance; her vanity was on the line.

"Can't be as bad as my starting bald spot," he grumbled, rubbing the back of his head. He had half the mind to shave his hair completely so that nobody would know. Eventually, it would just stop growing back.

Cass frowned and shook her head.

"I've got a gray patch," she mumbled, staring at the floor.

He shrugged; a gray patch wasn't anything to worry about. But then again, Cass seemed to be very dismayed at her age. Truthfully, Canyon Runner didn't understand the issue.

"Silver is a sign of one who has fought many, many battles," Canyon Runner replied, "a warrior who has silvered hair is to be feared and respected."

Cass leaned back and laughed.

"Hell," she snorted, "when you say it like that, it might not be so bad."

"So, why do you worry about your age?" he asked.

Cass snorted, giving a small shrug.

"It's not the age," she replied, "it's the damn gray. And I'd better have kids before I can't. Besides, what's with you talking about your pals all the time?"

Canyon Runner blinked. He wasn't sure what her angle was, and felt that at any second, she would outsmart him. Cautiously, he formulated a reply.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Cass rolled her eyes, a response that would have gotten her slapped back in Arizona. Instead of being annoyed, he found it curious. Usually, she had something clever in mind.

"You always talk about them," she explained, "how amazing they are, how you heard what they did and that they are perfect legionaries. Now, I know you're not queer, so do you think you're not as good as them?"

Canyon Runner stared forward and pursed his lips. He didn't do half the things that Vulpes, Marcus and Crassius did. He wasn't as strong as the praetorians, nor was he as cunning as the frumentarius. Was he to admit his weakness in front of the woman he wanted to woo as well?

"Answer me," Cass demanded, her voice sharp. There was no fight left in him.

"What do you want me to say?" he sighed, "I was a step above a slave. Those men are legends among the Legion, and I'm still getting used to the mere sight of them. I will never –"

Canyon Runner was silenced by her mouth, and his eyes widened. She was kissing him. As soon as it registered, Cass was gone, her face flushed red to match her hair. She was furious, perhaps that he didn't think as highly of himself. In her eyes, was he a match for the other legionaries?

"I understand now what Vulpes was trying to tell me," he chuckled.

"If he kissed you," Cass drawled, "then the three of us need to get to talkin'."

As Canyon Runner protested loudly, Cass silenced him by letting down her hair.

* * *

><p>He started with her boots, then her shirt and bra. Vulpes kissed a trail down her neck, toward her breasts, and hoped that this wasn't a lucid dream induced by the med-x. But the hands in his hair felt real, as did the nipple rolling over his tongue, and the leather-clad ass under his hands. Her sighs let him know that he was doing everything right, and her increasingly rough grinding in his lap slowly drove him insane. His mouth left her nipple and drifted back up to her ear.<p>

"You're overdressed," Vulpes whispered, causing her to giggle and squirm in his lap.

He let go of her hips, and Six stood, her breasts jiggling with the movement. Vulpes couldn't help but grunt in appreciation at the sight and reach out to quickly grope her. Sitting back, he watched as Six unbuttoned her pants. When she saw that he was watching, the Courier blushed and turned around in modesty. So, he would see her ass first, which was completely acceptable as well. With the sound of a zipper going down, the pants rolled downward with the released tension.

Six allowed the pants to continue to roll up and left them in a heap on the floor. In a quick flash of her hands, her panties were on the floor, and she turned back around to look at him, biting her lip in apprehension.

"You're beautiful," he chuckled, "come here."

The Courier smiled, approached him, and leaned over to give him a lingering kiss, her hair falling in a veil around them. She leaned back to look at him as well, her eyes trailing down his torso to the visible bulge in his pants.

"You like my big dimple butt?" Six asked, turning around. "I don't look like one of the pretty girls in the casino paintings."

There were some dimples, but not many. He didn't understand the problem, and it saddened him that even this beautiful woman was worried about her looks.

"I love your big, beautiful butt," he replied, grabbing two handfuls of her rear. Vulpes had women of all kinds, but this one was the first that he loved. Everything about her was both beautiful and captivating.

Six squeaked and jumped away from his grasp. Wheeling around, she pointed a finger at him.

"You're overdressed, mister," she accused.

Vulpes laughed, stood, and unbuckled the belt that held his jeans up. They hung off of his erection for a moment before pooling on the floor. Smirking, he patiently watched as Six looked him over with eager eyes and a prominent blush. They said nothing as they approached each other for a searing kiss.

Vulpes directed Six toward the bed and gently pushed her down until she laid on her back. Kissing his way down to her breasts again, he experimentally drew his fingers down the seam of her womanhood, pulled them back slowly, and admired the long string of fluid that his hand drew away. Vulpes couldn't resist licking his fingers, much to the Courier's enraptured delight.

"Do it now," Six pouted, wiggling her hips. Apparently, she didn't care for foreplay; they had denied themselves each other for too long.

He laughed and sat up, positioning himself at her entrance. For a moment, he teased her, causing the Courier to growl in frustration.

"Now," she demanded, giving him a glare.

Without preamble, he entered roughly. There was resistance – too much resistance – and the tightest, wettest heat he would ever felt, accompanied by a loud shriek in his ear. Vulpes stared down at the crying Courier, his mouth open in shock. Had he known that she was a virgin, he would have gone much, much slower.

Vulpes hunched over her, whispering apologies into her ear. It took a quick glance down to see her hands gripping the sheets tightly, her knuckles white.

"Relax," he told her, "stop clenching."

Six did what she was told and slowly allowed her muscles to slacken. Gently, Vulpes withdrew partially and pushed forward. Underneath him, the Courier whimpered and clamped down around his manhood like a vice.

"It's going to hurt more if you tense up," he panted, biting his lip. She was so incredibly hot, so incredibly tight, and he felt disgusting for enjoying the sensation while she was in pain.

Six relaxed again, and he moved slowly once more. This time, she remained calm. Vulpes took this as his signal to continue and thrust again. The Courier bit her lip, though whether it was in pain or the beginning of pleasure, Vulpes couldn't tell. Leaning over, he gave her a quick kiss.

"Is it starting to feel good?" he asked. His arousal was burning within her, making him moan from the intensity.

Six furrowed her brow and turned her head away from him. She was obviously still in pain.

"I can stop," he sighed. Vulpes never stopped for anyone, but for her, he would.

"No," Six protested, "it's fine. Keep going."

Vulpes nodded, buried his face in her shoulder, and increased his pace slightly. While kissing her neck, he trailed his hand down her stomach to slip his fingers between her folds and rub the hidden bundle of nerves within. He caressed her, attempting to bring her to the intense pleasure that he felt.

The pace was maddeningly slow, and Vulpes waited for the signs that he could increase his speed more. Six was limp underneath him, compliant and no longer gripping the bed. Supposing this was a good sign, Vulpes began to thrust faster and groaned at the increased friction. He had never had someone so tight and hot before, and compounding all physical sensation was the fact that he loved her.

With a gasp, he erupted before he could stop. Conflicting sensations of ecstasy and shame coiled inside him as Vulpes spent himself inside her. Within seconds, it was over, and Vulpes lay above her panting. He stared at her hair and refused to look her in the eye, even when Six turned her head.

"That's not happened in over a decade," he swallowed, hoping desperately that she would forgive him.

Vulpes withdrew from her and sat up, cringing when he saw the blood. He had never seen so much before from sex. It took him a while to gather the courage to look at her, but when he did, he wished immediately that he hadn't. Six stared at him in hurt, and then rolled over to face away from him.

"It's not normally like that," Vulpes frowned, "the first few times might be uncomfortable for you."

There was a sigh and a shrug in response. Worried, Vulpes laid down behind Six and wrapped his arm around her. It couldn't end like this.

Would she even let him touch her again?


	56. Chapter 56

A/N: I'm in the middle of moving, so it's been another long delay between chapters. Thanks for hanging in there!

* * *

><p>It was very late at night when the Courier's bedroom door finally opened. Nearly soundless steps made their way down the hall and to the bathroom. He heard water rushing through old pipes through the walls, then nothing, followed by footsteps approaching the kitchen. Vulpes appeared in the doorway, saw him, and frowned slightly. Shrugging, the frumentarius grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and sat down at the table.<p>

"That didn't go well," Vulpes mused, pursing his lips.

"No," Graham replied, "I gathered that it did not." Everyone heard enough to piece together what was going on, and it caused Craig to leave the suite for a while. After all, the Courier was like a sister to him, and Craig understandably did not want to listen in on her intimate life. Next to Graham, Follows-Chalk fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable with the topic of conversation.

"In my defense," Vulpes sighed, "I had no idea."

"Noted," Graham shrugged. He was sure that it had been an accident. Vulpes had never been a brute, unlike some of the other officers; it made him a very effective member of the frumentarii. Joshua looked down at the Scripture in front of him and wondered if he ought to continue, or if Vulpes meant to converse. The Frumentarius glanced around before leveling his gaze on him.

"I held the torch," Vulpes stated.

"I remember," Graham nodded. He removed his reading glasses and put his scripture aside. Follows-Chalk was tense, his unease with Vulpes growing. Vulpes admitting to torching him gave the scout yet another reason to dislike Vulpes. In a second, Follows-Chalk left the room, presumably to find Craig. Graham personally liked the new Vulpes in comparison to the brat he had known before. In that regard, he found it somewhat difficult to understand the scout's disdain. Perhaps, he was growing more tolerant with age.

"Doesn't that bother you?" Vulpes asked.

No, it didn't; at least, not anymore. But he wasn't about to give that answer up so easily.

"Does it bother you?" Joshua asked.

Vulpes frowned and looked down. Apparently, this wasn't one of his attempts to goad someone into an argument; he appeared to genuinely want to know.

"I didn't agree with some things," Vulpes added, as if to gloss over his question.

"So it did bother you," Graham concluded. There was a definitive nod in reply.

"He always had someone do the dirty work for him," Joshua noted, "even if it was something he could easily do himself."

Vulpes took a sip of his water.

"He had his flaws," he replied, staring at the wall.

"As do we all," Graham said.

There was a gulf of silence between them as Vulpes took another sip of water. Just as Joshua reached for his reading glasses once more, Vulpes spoke.

"You know that this was what he wanted to do," he said, "to combine the military discipline of the Legion with Western ingenuity."

Graham chuckled. Yes, that had been the goal when the Legion grew in size. But he knew that Edward wouldn't have stopped there. Vulpes had to know that as well.

"You don't agree?" Vulpes pressed, "in this very suite is the utopia. It works on a small scale, and it would most assuredly work on a large one." His hands wove grand gestures, his eyes sparkling, and if he hadn't known Vulpes and the Legion from before, Graham might have believed his tales and infectious excitement. When this man believed in something, results happened. He hoped that Vulpes believed in the Courier.

"Does it matter if it would have worked?" Graham asked, "There was too much damaging rhetoric surrounding the plan for it to do any good."

Vulpes nodded slowly, conceding the point.

"I could have changed that," he frowned. Graham wanted to ask how Vulpes could have changed what was so set in stone.

Out in the suite, the elevator door opened, a set of heavy footsteps making their way toward the kitchen. Cass stood in the doorway, seemingly tickled just from looking at Vulpes.

"Nice shootin', Tex," Cass drawled, chuckling.

Vulpes turned to give her a vicious glare; the Caravaner had to know that she was close to crossing a dangerous line. Graham knew Vulpes well, and knew that one thing that would send him over the edge was having his masculinity questioned.

"I did my best with what I had," came his curt reply.

"So, that's your infamous best, huh?" Cass snorted.

Vulpes stood and made his way to the door. Graham wondered if he ought to intervene, when Vulpes' reply came.

"Don't patronize me," he hissed, "I've been doing this since I was six." He left in a fury, taking the elevator to some unknown destination.

Cass blinked and shook her head as she attempted to process what Vulpes said. As expected, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard was part of her plan. She sat down in the chair that Vulpes vacated, propped her boots up on the table, and took a sip of her whiskey.

"Legion guys really start that early?" she asked, nodding toward the door.

"Does anyone willingly start that early?" Joshua countered.

The woman cringed and took a deep draught of the liquid.

"Explains a lot about him," she sighed. Cass played with the bottle's cork, staring at the table.

"It would behoove you to not mention what you know to anybody," Graham nodded.

The caravaner swore and nodded in agreement before taking another long drink.

Joshua placed his reading glasses back in their place and looked down at the Scripture. He wasn't sure what reason God had for putting Vulpes through so much, but he assumed that it had something to do with humility, and undoing the damage that Edward had done.

* * *

><p>Whenever someone had a problem, he had the inescapable urge to help them, especially if they were a friend. It was in his nature to do so. Arcade was a self-avowed fixer.<p>

So, when Six came to him that morning with a grim look on her face, he was all ears. She pulled him aside and told him that there had been an 'accident'. Given the certain sounds that came from her room the previous night, the doctor was sure he knew what the accident had been.

"We'll have to go to Freeside," he sighed. Six looked up at him, looking ready to cry.

Arcade wasn't sure why he was doing this. After all, the Followers didn't provide morning after pills for anyone unless they were raped. Drugs were too scarce, and birth control as it was in the pre-war era didn't exist. They were lucky to have what they did.

The doctor pressed the button to open the elevator door, and ushered the Courier inside. They stood inside the elevator in an awkward silence, as Arcade mentally debated himself on whether or not he was acting responsibly or ethically. The elevator traveled to its destination, a light blinking as they passed each floor.

"Why are we going up?" Six asked, bringing him out of his thoughts.

The elevator opened to reveal the penthouse instead of the casino floor, and the doctor frowned. This had something to do with Yes Man; he was sure of it.

"Hello! Come on down," the bot called, confirming Arcade's suspicions.

The pair descended the stairs toward the console. Arcade followed behind the Courier in hesitation; he didn't like where any of this was going, given the recent turn of events. Yes Man had eyes and ears everywhere, and it was no doubt that it knew exactly what they planned.

"I have a present for you," the bot declared.

Six stepped into the room as a securitron wheeled up to her. In its pincers was a small, sterilized medical bag. Rather than handing the bag to the Courier, the bot dropped it in Arcade's hands.

He glanced down at the object; it was a small, metal cross, with exposed ends of copper. At one end was a string, and the doctor knew exactly what it was. How Yes Man had gotten a hold of a copper IUD, he'd never know.

"This thing is virtually priceless," Arcade murmured, staring at the device. Had it not been a valuable resource, it would have been put in a museum.

"What is it?" Six asked. She leaned in closely to stare at it.

"This is an intra-uterine device," Yes Man announced, "we're going to have the doctor put this inside you, and you won't have any pesky babies for a good ten years. And it'll fix that little accident from last night, with a one percent chance of failure. I'd say those are good odds, wouldn't you?"

The Courier leaned in to look at the device in awe, and Arcade gently pulled it away from her gaze. It was, without a doubt, in Yes Man's best interests for Six to not get pregnant. A child would complicate the bot's plans, as well as make the already suspicious people angry that the Courier got pregnant from a former Legionary. This was governmental sterilization, pure and simple.

"Does she have the right to refuse this treatment?" Arcade asked.

"Oh, but I know she'll like it," the bot countered.

"A one percent chance is really good," Six mumbled, "where does it go?"

"Your uterus, silly!" Yes Man laughed.

The Courier nodded and swallowed as she realized that this wasn't going to be as simple as taking a pill. Arcade wasn't a fan of this in the least; even if she wanted the birth control, she very obviously didn't have a right to refuse it.

"I'm concerned about her reproductive rights," he frowned, daring to stare the bot down.

"What's the difference if she can decide or not?" the bot asked, "She wants it, after all; both of our purposes are served."

Six nodded in consent, and Arcade sighed.

"You have to realize this," he insisted, "you are not being given a choice as to if you want this or not. What would you do if you wanted a baby? What would you do if you're ordered to have one and you don't want one? If you do this, then it could happen to other women."

"Nope," Yes Man interjected, "it won't. And her wishes most certainly coincide with mine. We're not going to start eugenics or anything here, if that's your concern."

He could feel his argument starting to crumble, but there was the lingering concern that Six – and other women, by extension – would be forced into giving up their reproductive rights.

"I could sterilize Vulpes, if you prefer," the bot said, "but that would indeed be forced, and irreversible. So, that would be an actual chat about reproductive rights."

"Is it fair to cheat like this?" Six asked.

"It's governmental assistance," Yes Man replied, "and it is most certainly not cheating. Just don't go around telling everyone about it."

Arcade tossed the idea around in his head as he weighed the pros and cons of both arguments. He supposed everything could be okay, but only if certain conditions were met.

"If we're going to do this," the doctor sighed, "then I would feel much better if we had Six sign a form of consent that outlines the procedure and her willful consent to undergo it, as well as the stipulation that she may have it removed at any time if she so chooses."

In a second, the terminal at the front of the room beeped and churned out a sheet of paper. A securitron grabbed it and a pen, wheeling over toward them. Six grabbed the paper and pen.

"So I just sign?" she asked.

"Read it first," Arcade ordered. This was how many people got in trouble in the old world.

Six nodded, and the doctor prepared himself for a long wait as the Courier read it. Within a minute, he was shocked to discover that she'd finished; normal wastelanders couldn't read, and if they could, it took them a long time to do so.

"You read and understood that?" he asked, hoping that she hadn't just glossed over it.

The Courier nodded and put the pen to the signature line. Beautiful, carefully formed letters trailed behind the pen, making Arcade sad. Wherever six was from, someone had taken care to give her an excellent education, including one in cursive writing.

"Now why did I do that?" she laughed, looking at her signature.

Arcade read the word 'Sim' and pondered its meaning as the Courier neatly crossed out the word and resigned the form as 'Six'.

"Perhaps there was an 'm' in your name," he suggested. The sad, startled look in her eyes made him regret his words. Without a doubt, she would look at the tiny clue and try to guess her name, even if it had been just a mistake in her writing.

"Before we start," Six frowned, "I have a question. If I didn't know, then he should have known, right? He put his finger up there before."

Oh God. He had hoped that he avoided the sex ed questions, but apparently, he hadn't. Arcade mustered up his best doctor's manners and formulated his answer.

"A single finger?" he replied, "That might not do much on the way of tearing. And wasn't he drugged the night that he did that? He probably assumed you had physical experience, which was safe, given that twenty-something year old virgins are rare in the wasteland."

Six nodded and appeared to be content with his answer.

"The huge penis probably didn't help," she murmured, "thought those were supposed to feel good."

Arcade nearly choked, his face turning red. Yes, he saw that when he had to strip Vulpes to assess his injuries. Saving the man's life had been important at the time, but it was difficult not to notice.

"It depends on how it's handled," he coughed, "It can be either really nice or feel like you're being stabbed."

The Courier broke out into a wry grin and giggled at him. He didn't like that look on her. Six was up to something.

"You're a power bottom, aren't you?" she chuckled.

He stared at her in bewilderment. Where had she learned that phrase?

"It's okay," she whispered, "Crassius is too."

Arcade swallowed and made his way to the sink, intent on getting the wonderful mental images of the two praetorians out of his head. He was going to scrub up, dammit, and not think about what she said. On the bright side, she was relaxed – albeit, at his expense – for the procedure. He opted to ignore her in the face of educating her on the device.

"Now," he nodded, "In case you decide to have sex again –"

"I won't," Six interrupted.

Arcade fought the urge to laugh. He almost guaranteed that Vulpes wasn't done with the Courier yet, and before she knew it, she'd have the pants wooed off her all over again.

"This is going to keep pregnancy from happening," he continued, "or at least, it has a one to three percent failure rate.

Arcade scrubbed up, hoping that this would go well. He didn't want to make the poor girl cry.

* * *

><p>The scabs on his back were nearly healed, and Vulpes couldn't contain the itch to do something any longer. He cleared an area in the cocktail lounge and began to practice with an old machete, his muscles burning from being underused. He was sure that he was well enough for physical activity, but just had to be careful with what he did.<p>

It was about time, really. Before the flogging, he had been a fine-tuned killing machine, toned and muscled as much as possible from training out of boredom rather than necessity. It had done wonders for his encounters with Lanius, and he was positive that had he been in better physical form, last night would have gone much differently.

Vulpes put the machete aside and began a vicious set of pushups, intent on making up for lost time. Within a minute, he was out of breath, his arms screaming for reprieve. Panting, Vulpes rolled over on his back and attempted a set of sit-ups, only to find that the pull was too much on his back. This was overwhelmingly frustrating.

The sound of the elevator opening drew him away from his predicament. For a moment, he hoped and feared that it was Six, coming to talk to him about what he did to her. But the sound of two sets of footsteps meant that it couldn't be her. Vulpes sat up and listened intently.

"I just need to learn to shut my damn mouth," Cass sighed.

He narrowed his eyes in the direction of her voice. She did indeed; he almost backhanded her that morning.

"Yes," Canyon Runner replied, "you do."

Vulpes heard a slapping noise as the caravaner gasped in indignation. She most certainly gave him the mock-slap, and was most certainly flirting with him. Interesting.

"What should I do?" the recruit asked, "should I excuse it?"

"No," Cass replied, "I need help with it."

"I can do that," Canyon Runner offered.

They were silent for a moment, and Vulpes wondered if they had left.

"What?" Cass asked.

More silence.

"What?" she insisted, and the recruit grumbled.

"You drink too much," he admitted.

"You're shitting me," Cass groused, "is this some of that Legion shit or?"

The question hung in the air as Canyon Runner formulated a reply. This was obviously a conversation Vulpes wasn't meant to overhear.

"It's before midday," Canyon Runner replied, "and you've already been drinking."

"That's because I said some shit," she whined, "and then learned some shit, and now everything's shit."

"You could try using logic and reason," the recruit offered, "drinking isn't going to take those words back, and could even give you more terrible things to say."

Those words, spoken so plainly, were exactly what Cass needed. Admittedly, Vulpes had his doubts about them in the beginning; after all, there was quite the age gap, as well as a very large cultural difference. But those things seemed to work well. Cass could build the recruit's confidence, while Canyon Runner could get the woman to settle down. Vulpes was glad that he encouraged this.

The conversation dissolved into nothing, and he heard the distinct sound of kissing. He supposed he ought to either make his presence known, or leave, if he could get out without being seen.

"I've got an idea," Cass chuckled, "and it doesn't involve drinking."

There was only one other thing that she could be talking about, and Vulpes wanted no part in it. Despite his sexual vices, he wasn't a voyeur.

Perhaps he could sneak out while they were distracted with what they were doing, preferably before too many clothes were removed. With this in mind, Vulpes made his way toward the elevator shaft and hugged the wall. He crept around toward the door. Just as he was about to enter, a shirt flew across the room and hit him in the face.

Sputtering, Vulpes slunk into the elevator, hopefully unnoticed. The building was much too crowded for any form of privacy.

* * *

><p>He couldn't sleep again, something that became routine with each passing day since Vulpes disappeared. Lanius stood from bed and wandered down the hall, toward his former lover's bedroom. He'd been a presumptuous fool with Vulpes, and he paid the price for his ignorance. The Butcher was terribly, fearfully alone.<p>

Opening the door, Lanius stepped inside the room where he and Vulpes had their first encounter. Memories came back to him; thoughts of sensuous kisses and the desk being pushed against the wall haunted him. Sighing, the Butcher laid down face first on the bed and inhaled deeply. It smelled of sex – of Vulpes – and he fought the urge to sleep there.

Lanius rolled over on his back and stared up at the ceiling. He threw something good away in a fit of anger. Then again, executing Vulpes could have been merciful, given the fact that apparently, the entire affair was coerced. He didn't understand; Vulpes really enjoyed himself when they were together. Was he that confused about his sexuality? Perhaps, Vulpes had been much too young for him. Though Vulpes enabled him, the Butcher shared much more of the blame than he cared to admit.

Growling, Lanius left the bed, intent on leaving. The desk caught his eye again, and the Butcher stopped to search through the drawers.

He should have known that there was nothing there; he ordered that all of Vulpes' personal items be removed and sent with him. Lanius regretted leaving nothing behind; a strongly sentimental part of him wanted something to remember the Fox by.

He opened the top right drawer, and heard something slide around. Finding this curious, Lanius peered inside to see a small, black box. He removed it from the drawer and marveled at its soft texture. There appeared to be a hinge on one side, and a seam down all others. He opened it to reveal a small ring, its red and white stones sparkling faintly in the moonlight.

It was a gift for a woman, and there was only one woman that Vulpes would bother to give such a thing to. Lanius swallowed as he saw another confirmation that he never meant anything to Vulpes.

He was brought out of his thoughts by voices in the hallway. Lanius closed the box and listened intently, only able to pick out bits and pieces of the conversation. It was Ossian, and another set of guards. The word 'unnatural' drifted to his ears, and Lanius clenched his hand around the ring box in anger. Though they knew the law against certain relations, they had no right to gossip like women.

With the box in hand, Lanius quickly left the room and stepped into the hallway. Immediately, the guards stepped back from each other and gave him a salute, but it was too late; he'd caught them.

"I hope you're not discussing the Hanged Man," he growled.

There was no response.

"Well?" Lanius shouted, displeased when none of them flinched.

"Mars will do as he sees fit," Ossian replied, his answer cryptic. The other guards nodded in agreement.

"And who has the voice of Mars?" the Butcher questioned.

"Mighty Caesar," the guard nodded.

"That's what I thought," Lanius hissed. He withdrew to his quarters quickly, slamming the door behind him. Guard dogs barked outside at the commotion, causing lights to turn on and legionaries to stir and walk around to check for intruders.

The last thing he needed was guards disrespecting him. If he heard so much as one more thing from them, then Lanius would kill them all.


	57. Chapter 57

A/n: I got everything moved, and I hope that life can slow down for a bit so I can focus more attention on writing. Life has been very busy and difficult lately, and I can definitely say that ficcing has taken a backseat in lieu of the real world :/

* * *

><p>He thought he would be satisfied with anything he could get with Six, but Vulpes quickly found out that wasn't the case. It wasn't just that he failed to please her, or even that he hurt her; if they had been lovers – true lovers in love – then it shouldn't have mattered. They could have tried again, but much slower, and much more carefully.<p>

But Six said she didn't love him, so he was stuck. Vulpes wasn't sure what to do, since she continually denied him. She had to love him in return; there was no way she couldn't. So Vulpes spent his time trying to not to fawn over her or give her pleading looks. It was much easier said than done.

He still sat as close as he could to her, and still kissed her whenever he could. Vulpes kissed her until she warmed up, then fought the inevitable frustration that would come after being pushed away. Six was completely turned off to the idea of being intimate – not that he blamed her, of course.

Maybe she just needed space, but Vulpes was falling all over himself to try to woo her all over again. He found it strange that even though he was near her, and even sleeping in the same bed as her, he felt lonely for her. Six had to stop putting him off, physically and emotionally.

He looked up from the kitchen table to meet Veronica's knowing gaze.

"She'll come around," the scribe chirped, her words reassuring him.

Still, Vulpes couldn't help but sigh when the Courier entered the room with Cass and Canyon Runner behind her. Six looked sad. They stood near the doorframe, and the room grew quiet as everyone realized that this was something important.

"I don't want to tell them," Six mumbled, "since it's your news."

Cass shrugged and stepped forward.

"Yeah," she announced, "I'm leaving with Canyon Runner."

Interesting. Vulpes supposed that he saw this coming, however. Cass was a woman who, when she had her mind made up, would not deviate from her plans. The moment she set her eyes on Canyon Runner, the recruit was done with making any decisions for his own life.

The rest of everyone, however, seemed stunned.

"You should stay," Marcus frowned.

"No," Canyon Runner replied, "I think we are meant to leave."

Vulpes smirked; the recruit learned to say no after all.

"We're going to leave the adventuring to you all," Cass laughed, "my boots stopped itchin', and I intend to see what that feels like for a change."

"Where are you going?" Boone asked, nodding at the couple. He must have known what it was like, given that he had been a married man once.

Canyon Runner glanced at Cass, as if unsure. They did have a place in mind, didn't they?

"Goodsprings," the caravaner concluded.

"Great town," Boone replied, "nice people, plenty of room."

Six nodded in agreement. Goodsprings was the town that saved her life, after all. Vulpes was inclined to agree as well; it was a good place for one of his own to settle down in. In Goodsprings, they wouldn't have to worry about any local degenerates.

"We're leaving now before people can try to change our minds," Cass groused, giving Six a smirk. The Courier was the one person who could talk her into staying.

"You'll visit, right?" Six asked, pouting.

The caravaner laughed and nodded.

"It's one day's walk," she replied, "so of course. And I'm sure you'll be around with official business anyway."

Boone stood from the kitchen table and offered to help Canyon Runner get a travel pack ready. While the others were occupied, Cass gave Vulpes a nod and motioned toward the hallway. Vulpes stood and followed her out of the kitchen.

"Your girl in there," she murmured, "she'll come around someday. It might take weeks, months, or a year or so, but she'll get it eventually. You've gotta hang in there. Don't down yourself; just keep doing that charm thing and she'll be yours."

Vulpes nodded slowly. So he wasn't fooling himself, at least, according to a notorious drunk. Still, her opinion was better than nothing.

"People need to disappear for that to happen," Cass continued, "so she'll focus on you even more."

He lifted an eyebrow at the woman.

"That ain't why I'm leaving," she groused, as if reading his mind.

Vulpes chuckled. Of course that wasn't why they were leaving; they had the urge to settle down and start a family, and the Lucky 38 was no place to do that.

"He has enough moral compass for the both of you," he needled. Cass laughed and nodded in agreement.

The elevator door opened next to them to reveal a securitron, with Yes Man's face flickering on the screen. Vulpes narrowed his eyes at the bot; it had better let the couple leave, or they were about to have some problems.

Six stepped out into the hallway with Canyon Runner and Boone. She greeted the bot happily – almost too happily.

"I figure while you're walking your friends to the edge of town," Yes Man said, "We can get you all working on that errand I want you to do. So, get geared up."

The bot handed him a bag, and Vulpes opened it to peek at its contents. It was a set of light leather armor that he had left at the Vault 21 hotel. He couldn't help but chuckle; it seemed as if Yes Man planned to have him around almost from the beginning. He entered the Courier's bedroom and quickly changed, holstering his pistol and his ripper on either side. When he left the room, the praetorians had their ballistic fists ready. It was time to go. Cass, Canyon Runner, Marcus, Crassius, Six, and Vulpes piled into the elevator with the securitron and took the long ride down to the casino level.

"Basically," the bot explained, "the crops that are being watered from the east pump station are doing poorly, and that is no good. That's what you're going to fix."

Vulpes nodded slowly. If it were a bad filter, they would be hard pressed to fix it. Admittedly, if he found literature on the technology behind it, they stood a chance of helping. But Marcus and Crassius would be completely useless for such a job; they were the muscle, and completely untrained in technology. He wondered what the bot was thinking, and concluded that there had to be something more behind it.

The elevator dinged and the large group stepped off, grateful to be out of the confined space. Together, they set off toward the highway with a small securitron escort in tow.

All around them, people whispered about Legionaries. They seemed to be either too worried or unconcerned to protest loudly, though Vulpes couldn't tell which. One thing was certain; he would rather risk death from an angry mob than leave Six. He fought too hard to get to her, and he would be damned if they got in the way.

Soon, they were out in the Mojave, the gates of Freeside groaning shut behind them. This was where they parted ways.

"15 should be good all the way down to Goodsprings," Six nodded, "since the deathclaws have been cleared out." She gave Cass a tight hug, and it took a while for the Courier to let go.

As Cass passed by Vulpes, she gave him a quick pat on the back and a reassuring smile. He didn't want to be coddled, but appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

Vulpes watched the pair leave for a moment before turning his eyes to Six. The Courier stared after her friend, her face indescribably sad.

"So, where's this pump station?" he asked. He had to draw her attention elsewhere.

"East," Yes Man replied.

No shit. Sighing, Vulpes took off to the east, the praetorians and Courier following behind him.

"Technically," the bot remarked, "it's to the southeast, given our location."

Vulpes altered his course slightly and followed the large, broken highway toward the southeast. It didn't take long before they came across farms filled with rows upon rows of struggling plants. The area where the Sharecropper farms used to be was doing very poorly in comparison to the farms further west. Workers looked up from their jobs, staring at the newcomers. Some followed behind in curiosity.

"Station's right there," Yes Man remarked, pointing his stubby securitron arm toward a building.

Vulpes looked at the large pipe that led toward a small, stone building.

"Is the pipe secure all the way down the line?" he asked.

"Yep," the bot replied, "no leaks anywhere."

He nodded and made his way up a set of concrete stairs, glass from an exploded utility light crunching underneath his boots. The rusted blue door at the top groaned as he opened it. A terminal immediately caught his eye, and Vulpes figured he had better check it for clues.

Its screen lit up as he pressed a key on the keyboard. Apparently, it had a broken network connection – something easily repaired in most cases. Vulpes scrolled through his options before finding the right one. It took a moment before the terminal reset with the proper connection, and when it did, a warning immediately flashed on the screen. Apparently, there was radiation leaking in through the pipes, which was more than enough to poison the nearby plants, and, in turn, the people that ate them.

Vulpes frowned and left the building. His companions and some of the workers looked up at him expectantly, and he wished that he had better news.

"I gathered information from a terminal in the offices there," he announced.

"Bingo!" Yes Man cheered, "I couldn't reach that with these big claws. You're good, man."

"Not good enough to stop radiation from leaking in through the pipes," Vulpes replied, "the plants are being poisoned, and so are those who eat the produce."

"Do you have any idea what could have caused it?" Marcus asked, frowning.

"It is odd," Vulpes nodded, "one would think that the radiation would have dissipated some over the past two hundred years. This is assuming that House let any bombs fall nearby to begin with. Given that most buildings are intact, I'd say that's highly improbable."

"So what are we left with?" the praetorian asked.

Vulpes thought back on his readings, but nothing came to mind. The ground was as irradiated as Searchlight.

An idea suddenly hit him, and it wasn't a good one.

"They must have dug a hole and created a dumping site," he concluded, "in the pre-war time, they were largely ignorant of the long-term issues associated with radiation. My advice would be to pack up and move on from the affected area."

The look on the nearby farmers' faces was beyond disappointment, and Vulpes wondered if being the bringer of bad news would truly help him become accepted by the people nearby.

"I bet a vault reactor went crazy," Six interrupted, "and that could be shut off."

Vulpes blinked at her and wondered where she got that idea from. Granted, it was plausible, but her statement had no basis in fact. And how would she know that vaults were nuclear powered? She wasn't exactly what he would call a learned individual.

"Vault 34 is just nearby," Yes Man added, "I bet that's the problem. Gosh, you all are great at doing this stuff. I might have you fix more things around here, if you survive going into a highly irradiated vault."

Vulpes wasn't keen on the idea, but couldn't do anything about it. There was a time where he had done much more dangerous things for Caesar. Vulpes wondered what changed, and could only conclude that he wished to stay with Six instead of putting himself in harm's way.

The group made their way to the east, up a hill then down into a steep path that led toward a door in the side of the hill. Debris littered the path, causing them to slide as they descended. To his left, Six stumbled, and Vulpes' arms shot out to quickly grab her. Her momentum was too much, and while he couldn't stop her altogether, he was able to slow her fall. Dusting themselves off, the group was prepared to enter the Vault when Victor rolled up to them.

"Hold on a minute, there!" he greeted, "I don't recon you ought to go in there without some serious medication." In his claw, the bot held a bag full of rad away and rad-x. The praetorians eyed the bag in suspicion, so Vulpes took it.

While Six thanked the robot – pointless, Vulpes chuckled, because it didn't have higher cognitive functions – he opened a bottle of rad-x and downed a pair of pills with some water. He handed some to each member of the group and waited for them to take the pills.

After the reluctant praetorians took the rad-x, Vulpes led everyone toward the rusted gate that housed the vault. Old hinges squealed from disuse, and the door slammed shut behind them. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark while Six stepped out in front of them.

Vulpes made out the shape of a large door that was reminiscent of a gear, and a small console in front of it. Six stood at the console and flipped a switch, causing a large generator to warm up.

"Step back behind me," the Courier warned.

A large robotic arm came down from the ceiling and moved forward to the vault's large door. Attaching to the front, the arm rolled the door backward to reveal a large, dark passageway.

Vulpes peered down the abyss in front of him and stepped forward, telling the others to be quiet. There was no telling what was inside this vault.

They crept forward until a dim light shone at the end of the corridor. Vulpes readied his ripper, hoping that there wouldn't be any ghouls at the end. Soon, the upper level of the vault was revealed through dim, flickering lights above.

"Gotta get to the overseer's room," Six whispered, "that should have the access to the reactor."

Vulpes nodded in agreement; in vaults, nothing was done without the permission of the overseer. A hiss sounded below them, and Vulpes peered between the bars of the floor to assess the situation. There was a figure beneath his feet, its distinctive shape and leathery skin giving away its identity almost instantly. He turned toward the group, pointed down, and mouthed the word 'ghoul'.

Six motioned toward a nearby staircase, and the group made their way down as silently as possible. She took the lead before Vulpes could force her behind him, and he hoped that they could sneak up on the creature before it saw them. The Courier rounded the corner without peeking out first, and the ghoul screamed in rage as it spotted them. Before he could reach it, the creature's hand swiped at Six, causing her to cry out in pain. Cursing, Vulpes shoved her behind him, drew his revolver, and shot the creature in the face.

The sound of gunfire drew other ghouls out of hiding, and Vulpes pushed Six toward the upper part of the stairs in an attempt to hide her. Satisfied that she would be safe, he darted out of the stairwell with the praetorians and attacked the approaching ghouls with his ripper. They began to make short work of them, but there were too many for him to continue to protect Six. Frustrated, Vulpes readied himself to jump in front of the stairwell. He would bodily block them if he had to.

Shots rang out, and Vulpes reconsidered his decision. Six stood in the doorway, the glint of her prized golden pistol catching in the corner of his eye. Soon, there were no ghouls left, and as he watched the Courier rifle through the creatures' pockets, Vulpes had to begrudgingly admit that Six wasn't as helpless as she seemed.

"Don't get near the glowing one," he called, watching as Six approached a bright green corpse. The Courier held out her arm near it, and the pip-boy on her arm began to click wildly, signaling that the creature was radioactive. Slowly, she backed away.

"We're going to have to be very quiet," Vulpes frowned, "so maybe we can sneak up on these things."

The praetorians nodded.

"I'm concerned about using guns," Marcus replied, "They could draw more attention." Vulpes sighed and agreed. He wished that he hadn't shot the ghoul, but he had no choice; it was either that, or allow Six to be injured more than she already had.

"Do you have a blade?" Vulpes asked, looking over at Six.

She shook her head, her face turning red.

"I'm no good with those," she pouted, "just guns."

Sighing, Vulpes directed her to stand between the praetorians before making his way through the atrium and toward the hallway. The group crept down the winding corridors, following signs that led toward the overseer's office.

"What if it's locked?" Six whispered.

Vulpes frowned and turned down a different hallway, toward the security room. If they were lucky, they could get a master override for all of the doors in the vault. He followed the signs, and finally arrived at the security room. It was down a set of stairs, underwater.

Frowning, he weighed his options. He could attempt to open the door, but the water was sure to be radioactive, and, judging by the smell, could be sewage. Vulpes wasn't about to subject himself to that filth without first assuring that the door would open. Glancing around, a sign for the utility room caught his eye. Maintenance would certainly have a code for the door.

"Let's see if we can find a key card for that door," he nodded, "I'm not going down there without a high probability of knowing that I can get in."

"You'd go down there?" Six asked, cringing.

"Infiltration isn't as glamorous as people would have you believe," Vulpes replied.

He led the way down the hall toward the utility closet, carefully rounding corners and surprising ghouls before they could detect them. Soon, they found the utility room. Signaling for the group to prepare for an attack, Vulpes crept forward to open the door. With a small squeak and an electrical hum, the door parted down the middle to reveal a pair of ghouls. One turned his head, sniffing and searching the air for something that was out of place. The praetorians crept forward, readied their power fists, and attacked at the same time, punching the heads right off of the ghouls.

Vulpes stepped over the dead ghouls and pulled the chair back at the security terminal. Sitting down, he activated the machine in hopes of gaining access to a security override. The screen displayed a message that told him that access was denied to the security room, due to flooding. Nodding, Vulpes ordered the pumps to activate and remove the water from the security area.

Satisfied, they made their way back to the previously flooded door. Vulpes made his way down the damp, stinky stairs and activated the lever to open the door. It was locked.

"We're going to have to find the keycard," he sighed, motioning for Six to come closer.

Quietly, she held out her arm so he could access the maps on her pip-boy. Vulpes couldn't help but kiss her quickly as he remembered that this was similar to the time they met.

He peered at the map and concluded that down the second hallway, to the left, was an area they hadn't visited yet. Sighing, Vulpes let go of the Courier's arm and walked toward the unexplored area of the map. It didn't take long for another stairway covered in water to appear before them.

"At least it doesn't smell as bad," Vulpes remarked, handing his ripper and sidearm to the praetorians.

"That's dangerous," Six frowned.

Vulpes shrugged and grabbed more rad-x from the bag. He took a double dose and passed the bottle around, instructing the others to take more. It was likely to have worn off by then.

He waded into the cold water and peered down at the submerged hallway. Vulpes couldn't see anything in the water; he would have to swim around. Holding his breath, Vulpes ducked under the water and pushed off the stairs to propel himself forward.

Around the corner was a room, with multiple floating objects. It appeared to be an office of sorts. In the corner, the bloated corpse of a ghoul wearing a vault technician suit floated. The keycard could be in the pockets of the suit, but he would have to be careful. If he agitated the corpse too much, the trapped gasses inside could explode. Vulpes inched forward and stuck his hand inside the back pocket, his hand finding something small and rectangular. He withdrew it quickly and swam back down the hallway. His lungs were burning; he had to make it back soon.

With the stairs in sight, he made one last push and came up, gasping for air. Marcus grabbed his arm and hauled him up to dry land. For a moment, Vulpes sat and attempted to catch his breath.

Six crouched down next to him, worry etched into her features.

"Got the keycard," he panted, "there was a corpse in the water."

The Courier cringed and backed up as Vulpes slowly stood. He led them back toward the security room's door, slipped the keycard into the slot, and smiled in satisfaction when it opened. Predictably, there was a terminal on the desk in front of them, and Vulpes activated it with a press of a button. The screen lit up, asking for a password. He ran the normal bypass routine and peered at the lines of code that displayed before his eyes.

What in the hell was this?

Vulpes scrolled down and attempted to make sense of what he saw, but everything was completely foreign. Generally, he prided himself on his knowledge of terminal hacking. This, however, made him feel as if he was beginning to learn over again.

Frustrated, Vulpes opened the drawers of the desk, in the hopes that there would be a password within. He quickly discovered that there wasn't, but there was a copy of _Dean's Electronics_ inside. Vulpes flipped through the magazine and chuckled when he saw that the main article contained a special encryption method; it was the very same one that the terminal used.

"Can you get it?" Six asked.

"Yes," Vulpes replied, "this terminal was used for practice, interestingly enough."

He scanned the pages and found the trick that would help him find the password. With a few clicks of the keyboard, Vulpes found the password.

"Cocks," he murmured.

"What?" Marcus asked, trying not to laugh.

"That's the password," Vulpes shrugged, "often times, it's something dirty."

He turned back to the screen and selected an override to unlock the overseer's office. Standing from the desk, Vulpes led the group back through the maze of hallways to arrive at their destination. Hissing sounds came from behind the door; there were ghouls within the room.

This was the last unexplored area, and there were no other creatures to alert. Vulpes drew his revolver, and signaled that Six draw her pistol. The more firepower they had, the better.

Leaning forward, Vulpes pressed the button to open the door. It slid down slowly, and the roaring from within the room indicated that they had been seen.

Shots rang out as a group of ghouls swarmed the group. A large, glowing ghoul darted forward, intent on Six. The Courier quickly reloaded her pistol and unloaded an entire clip into the creature's body, but it continued forward.

Vulpes was across the room, staring on in horror as glowing claws descended toward Six. It was within her bubble, and she was completely defenseless. In a second, Marcus darted forward, took the blow, and shoved Six out of the way, his training as a bodyguard taking over his instincts. With the aid of the ballistic fist, the ghoul's head was ripped from its body.

The ghouls were all dead, leaving the wide-eyed, terrified Courier to stare around the room.

"Are you okay?" she asked, grabbing Marcus' arm. Blood seeped into his shirt from the gashes across his ribs.

"I've had worse," the praetorian chuckled. As a measure of show, he drew his arm upward, lifting Six along with it.

"You need to learn close-quarters combat," Vulpes frowned, staring at the Courier.

Six nodded sheepishly as he fished around in the overseer's radioactive pockets to find a keycard. Finding it, he turned to the overseer's terminal, inserted it into the console, and accessed the menu.

"We'll start tomorrow," he murmured, finding the correct option to open the door to the reactor.

Deep within the vault, electricity hummed. Behind the desk, the floor split down the middle to reveal a set of stairs. The Courier's pip-boy began to click wildly; a cloud of radiation welled up from the reactor.

Shutting down the reactor would take some scientific knowledge, and it meant that Vulpes had to go down there. At the same time, it was very risky. A quick glance back at Six solidified the idea that he would go alone. She needed to stay safe, and the praetorians would be more than adequate.

"I'm going down," he declared, "do not follow; there's no sense in anyone else going."

Vulpes grabbed the bag of provisions from Six and swallowed more rad-x. If he were lucky, he would get out of this with only minor radiation poisoning.

"Don't go," Six pleaded, "we can find another way. We could send a securitron."

"A securitron wouldn't fit in the doorway," he replied, "There is no other way."

With a quick kiss, he left Six and descended the stairs to the reactor. Vulpes did this for her.

The passageway was dimly lit, the walls and ceiling dripping with filthy water. With each passing step, he grew increasingly nauseous, and it didn't take much to deduce that he was taking on an inordinate amount of radiation. Vulpes sped up his pace toward a partially submerged set of stairs. Reflected in the water, he saw a red utility terminal.

His shaking legs carried him down the stairs and splashing over to the keyboard, where he frantically activated the terminal. It displayed a message that said gave different options, but no way to order that they be carried out. Beneath it was a selection that could open the reactor door. Vulpes' finger hovered over the enter button as an SOS message caught his eye.

Frowning, he selected it and pressed enter. The message appeared on the screen, and he read it carefully. Apparently, there was a group of vault dwellers stuck on the other side of the reactor. If he rerouted control to their terminal, he could save them.

But if he did that, the reactor would remain intact, and the crops would be doomed. The radiation could spread as well. No, there was only one viable choice; he had to shut the reactor down.

Without hesitation, Vulpes opened the door to the reactor. Two glowing vault technicians hissed and ran out, headed straight toward him. Vulpes raised his revolver and shot both in their heads, downing them instantly. If a man used a big enough caliber, he would take almost anything down in one shot.

Panting, he made his way into the reactor room, to the nearby terminal. Vulpes activated it and selected the option to deactivate the reactor.

As the reactor powered down, Vulpes stumbled out of the room, retching from radiation poisoning. He wouldn't tell Six about his choice.

* * *

><p>Minutes passed, each second punctuated by the device on the Courier's arm clicking. They had to get out of the deathtrap vault soon, but Vulpes had yet to return from where he disappeared.<p>

Crassius stood on the stairs that led to the reactor core, counting the seconds that Vulpes was gone. Six stood in front of him in worry. It had been too long; they all knew it.

Wordlessly, he comforted the Courier by putting his hands on her shoulders and rubbing. Doing this usually calmed Marcus down, it would work on her as well. To his left, Marcus waited, his wounds beginning to close already. The ghoul's claws had been dull.

Two shots rang out below, unmistakably from Vulpes' revolver. After a tense moment of silence, the ambient hum beneath their feet died down. The lights flickered as they lost power and regained it.

"I knew he would succeed," Marcus noted. Crassius nodded in agreement. Success, however, didn't mean that he would necessarily make it out alive.

In the silence of the partially shut down vault, Crassius heard splashing, followed by coughing and retching. Vulpes was struggling. Just as he moved to disobey and go down the stairs, Vulpes appeared. He stumbled down the hall, leaning on the damp walls for support.

Crassius descended the stairs quickly, pulled Vulpes onto his back, and made his way back up. They had to get him out of the radiation.

"We need to get out of here before the generator runs out of power," Vulpes coughed, "or we could be stuck with the door closed."

"When will that be?" Marcus asked. They began to go back the way they came, as quickly as possible.

"About two hours," Vulpes replied.

Crassius nodded and walked down the empty hallways. They were much more likely to succumb to radiation than be sealed inside the vault. Within a minute, they were at the vault's large atrium, ascending the stairs to the main door. A wave of nausea came over Crassius; he was beginning to be poisoned as well.

With a final push, the group stumbled out into the light. They climbed the steep, gravelly hill toward the west.

"The air feels better," Six noted.

Crassius nodded in agreement and shifted Vulpes' weight in order to get a better grip.

"I can walk," Vulpes mumbled, slumping against his back.

"No," Crassius replied.

There was no further protest as they headed to the pump station and the old sharecropper farms. A crowd gathered around them, murmuring among themselves. It wasn't until a securitron wheeled forward that Crassius finally let Vulpes down. Even then, he kept an arm around him to make sure he remained steady. The crowd saw that Vulpes was ill; they saw that Marcus had been wounded. But not a single one of them moved to help.

"Water," Vulpes panted, "I need some water." His face was ashen, his skin green. He was about to pass out.

Crassius gently helped him sit on a nearby rock. Still, the crowd stared. Sitting helped Vulpes regain a small amount of strength.

"Whose dick do I have to suck to get some water around here?" Vulpes shouted.

Marcus stopped and stared at Vulpes with wide eyes.

"Quick!" he called, "someone get me some water so I can give it to him!"

Some of the crowd laughed, and a small group of them jogged away to the western pump. Within a minute, they returned with bottles of fresh water and handed one to each.

A small woman stepped forward with a rag and another bottle of water. She asked Marcus to remove his shirt so she could clean his wounds. He gave her a smile, and she blushed deeply as he took off his shirt.

"So," Marcus drawled, "about that sucking."

Vulpes rolled his eyes and swallowed his water.

"Go suck yourself," he quipped.

There was a moment of silence before Marcus turned his pleading eyes toward Crassius.

"Later," Crassius sighed, much to Marcus' delight. The woman who was cleaning Marcus' wounds coughed and looked down in embarrassment.

Another small group of farmers approached them, bearing sackcloth bags. A young woman stepped forward, and Crassius guessed her to be in her early teens. She made it a point to look only at the courier; she was obviously scared of the Legionaries.

"Miss Six," she called, "we have some lunches. We heard there was radiation down in the vault, so some of us got some food together. It's not much."

The Courier beamed up at the young woman and thanked her profusely. Within a second, the farmer lowered her head and backed away, obviously not used to being around someone as well known as Six.

"You have our thanks," Crassius nodded.

The young woman looked up at him in surprise.

"And ours as well," she replied, before scurrying away.

He couldn't help but smile; perhaps, these people would accept them. Until then, Crassius would do everything within his power to aid them in order to ensure that he and Marcus had a peaceful new life together.

* * *

><p>Six held her breath as Arcade applied astringent to the wounds she received from the ghoul. The scratch marks on her arm were deep, ragged gouges caused by blunt, filthy nails. The cleaning burned fiercely, but it would get infected really bad if she didn't get it done.<p>

"You're lucky that you didn't get radiation sickness," the doctor frowned, applying more astringent to a cotton ball. He glanced over at Vulpes and gave him a nod.

"And you're lucky you didn't pass out and die," he added.

Vulpes grunted and laid his head back, closing his eyes. He had fallen asleep in the chair with an IV of rad-away in his arm. Six was worried about him.

"Well," Boone remarked, "looks like Vegas will be doing fine from here on out. Hopefully that stops some of the anger."

"I think it will," Six replied, "a lot of them saw us come out of that vault. If they do things like that, I'm sure that everyone will start seeing that it's okay."

"Could get rid of the fiends while you're at it," the sniper added.

Vulpes perked up at the idea and nodded. Six wasn't sure what to do with the fiends yet. She supposed she would have to give them an ultimatum, if they would even take one. After that, she would send the Legionaries in to maybe rough some folks up a little to help them reconsider.

Six winced as Arcade dabbed at a particularly deep cut. She hoped that he wouldn't have to stitch it shut. Perhaps they could use a stimpack instead.

"Speaking of areas around here," Boone nodded, "How's Novac been?"

"There's been a little trouble," Six replied, "raiders, Jackals and stuff. I set some of the Boomers up to help Manny and Andy."

Boone frowned and shook his head.

"Using rockets to defend the town from inside that dinosaur could be dangerous," he said, "could blow something up by accident."

"It was all I had," Six shrugged.

The sniper nodded and looked down at the floor in thought. Six figured he felt guilty, though there was no reason to do so. He needed to take care of himself before he could even take care of Novac. Besides, nobody died while he was gone. Sure, Manny and Andy got worn down, but that was fixed now.

Arcade finished cleaning her wounds, and Six stood to leave the kitchen. Despite being dirty, she wanted alone time and opted to go to her room for a while instead of the shower. Six couldn't help but sigh as she sat down on the couch in her room. To say the day had been eventful was an understatement.

Within a few minutes, the silence was interrupted by the door opening. Sighing, Six opened her eyes to address the intruder.

Vulpes stood in the doorway, the thick outline of his erection down the leg of his pants immediately capturing her attention. Six wondered if salivating was the proper response for seeing it, and supposed it didn't matter; she had been caught staring. The Courier shook her head and looked up to meet his knowing gaze. He was obviously feeling better after the rad-away.

"Can I help you?" she frowned, acting as if she had seen nothing.

"I certainly hope so," Vulpes replied. He stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. The grin on his face was almost threatening.

Vulpes walked toward her and stopped just inches from her face, putting a hand on her head. She got it; he was being rather forward with what he wanted, after all. That was when the smell hit her.

"I'm not going near that thing if you haven't showered yet," Six groused.

But then he gave her that look – the one he gave her when they first kissed – and the Courier couldn't help but melt. Smiling and shrugging in defeat, Six slid her hand up his leg to caress him through his pants. He gave the back of her head a reassuring pull, and she tugged the zipper of the pants down. But the smell became even stronger and reminded her of exactly what their afternoon entailed.

"You've been out in the heat," she protested, "and swimming in radioactive corpse water, and fighting and getting all sweaty, and I just can't –"

In a second, she was flipped on her back on the couch, her leather pants yanked off inside out. Six wondered how he got them off so easily, especially when she had to shimmy to remove them. Before she could ask, his head descended between her legs. Vulpes placed open-mouthed kisses on her mound before his tongue darted between her folds. Six squealed and squirmed, trying to get more and less at the same time. He was going to make her go insane.

Vulpes licked and sucked aggressively, his hot breath adding to the pleasure. He was an animal, hell-bent on having his way, and Six was stuck giving in. She would compromise if she had to in order to have him continue doing what he was doing.

Something hot and wet slid into her passage, and the Courier's mouth opened in shock. He didn't; he couldn't have. But his thumb sliding down to massage her nub completely shattered her surprise.

"Dirty, sweaty," he breathed, "delicious."

Six bit her lip at the onslaught of sensations. Her breath came out of her nose in quick puffs as she attempted to keep quiet. The familiar sensation of what Vulpes did to her at Gomorrah came back, and Six was sure she was going to die from waiting to crash over the edge into bliss.

Vulpes' thumb mercilessly rubbed her nub while she clawed at his scalp, and she cursed the fact that he had cut his hair. Her entire body seized in the throes of passion as waves of pleasure reverberated throughout her body.

Vulpes sat back, grinning at her. Slowly, he stood, his erection all the more obvious. Six eyed him warily and wondered how something like that fit inside her. She supposed that was where most of the pain came from. But just then, he had shown her something amazing, and proved that he did indeed know what he was doing with her. His smirk let her know that he knew exactly what she was thinking.

"You're still full of filthy corpse water," Six insisted.

"I hear that they make showers for that," Vulpes nodded, "and soap."

With a squeak, Six realized that he had made his point. Just because she was scared of sex didn't mean they couldn't fool around a little. After all, they both had needs.

With that, Six followed him to the shower. He would need help washing his back, after all.


	58. Chapter 58

A/n: Does anyone know how I can get rid of this cover photo bullcrap? Or do I have to manually change it for each story? As much as I love my avatar, I don't want that to be the default for my stories :/

Also, I have to sadly say that this fic is drawing to a close soon, and I wanted to thank everyone for being awesome. Be on the lookout for a sequel, as well as a Skyrim fic from me :)

Warning: The last section of this chapter is NSFW

* * *

><p>She watched as Vulpes stared after Six, the look in his eyes reminding her of a schoolboy in love. The Courier begged and pleaded with Boone, and Vulpes watched from the safety of the kitchen table.<p>

"You can't go!" Six said, grabbing the sniper's arm.

Boone wrenched himself away from the Courier's grasp, causing Vulpes to twitch. Veronica knew that Boone was just gruff, but she also knew that Vulpes was very serious about protecting Six, going overboard plenty of times. It was a symptom of his disease – his love disease.

Veronica giggled; Vulpes was diseased.

The man in question turned around to give her a quick glance. Veronica shrugged, her face turning red. She definitely laughed at a very inappropriate time, but that wasn't out of the ordinary for her.

"I didn't say I was gonna go," Boone sighed, "Said I'm thinking about it. Novac needs my kind of help more than you do." Though he sobered up, the sniper still spoke plainly. Veronica could definitely appreciate that, but the Courier was a sweet girl, and sometimes needed to be spoken to gently.

"You've got to let a man do something," Vulpes interjected, "if it is indeed a conviction." Veronica couldn't help but suspect that he wanted the other man out of the picture. Was Vulpes truly that manipulative?

Six sighed, nodded, and sat down. It was amazing how quickly Vulpes got her to think, and Veronica felt like they were perfect for each other. Vulpes was obviously crazy for the Courier; surely, Six had to love him in return. She just didn't know it yet.

Veronica wondered many times if she was right, or if she was a hopeless romantic. She was quietly cheering the guy on, but all the cheering in the world didn't mean a thing if Six didn't return his affections. It reminded her of herself and Christine. Undoubtedly, that was why she had so much invested in watching them; she didn't want all that heartache to happen to someone else. But it was happening to Vulpes before her very eyes, and all she could do was encourage him. Veronica didn't want to know what he would do if Six never turned around, or if he finally got the message. Guys like him were the kind to lose it and do something insane.

"If you're going to leave," Follows-Chalk nodded, "I'd like to go with."

"He's not going to leave," Six pouted. Vulpes reached over to tuck her hair behind her ear and give her a quick peck on the cheek.

Veronica wasn't surprised; after the magic of New Vegas wore off, she could tell that Follows-Chalk wanted to get out, and fast. He hadn't been impressed by the city of debauchery, nor the childish and sometimes perverted antics of the Legionaries. Veronica tried her best to include him in conversations, but it wasn't often that she came up with something they could discuss. Perhaps he might have had more in common with the Legionaries, but it was obvious that the scout held some sort of grudge against them. Not that she could blame him, of course; she heard about what went down with his tribe, and it was very uncool. But the ex-Legionaries that were present had nothing to do with that.

"I'll accept whatever you decide to do," Graham said. He looked back down at his Scripture, and that was it. The man didn't speak much, despite Veronica's attempts to converse with him. He was friendly enough – at least, for a guy that looked like a mummy straight out of an old holovid. She could never quite tell what he was thinking, but then again, the bandages concealed a lot. And Veronica was sure that she didn't want to see what was under them.

She knew the rumors too; she overheard Follows-Chalk whisper to Boone that Vulpes Inculta was the one that lit Graham on fire. Boone didn't want to believe it, but the scout said that he heard it out of Vulpes' very mouth. Veronica wondered what kind of man would do that to another, and figured that it must have been him just following orders. Following orders was a huge problem for many organizations, hers included. Orders could be uncomfortable, and in Boone's case, could get innocent people killed. Perhaps that is why Boone told Follows-Chalk to drop it. After all, Boone was in no place to judge. It did explain why the scout sent continual glares in Vulpes' direction.

Veronica glanced over at Arcade, who sat in his usual spot, reading. She was reminded of the stern Elder McNamara, with his glasses pushed down the bridge of his nose and the very same stern-browed, frown-mouthed look on his face. At least Arcade was doing what he always did. She wished she could say the same of the others, whose roles had been irrevocably changed by their company.

Boone was arguably for the better, but still out of touch with his emotions. Six was busy thwarting Vulpes' advances, while he followed her around like a lovesick puppy. He was no longer suave, and was taking anything he could get. Judging from the sounds coming from the shower the other day, Six was taking full advantage of the situation.

Veronica shuddered as the noises came back to her memory. They were wet and soapy, the same sounds that she occasionally heard coming from the men's shower back home in the bunker. And she didn't know what shower it took place in, so she did the safe thing and thoroughly rinsed the one she decided to use the next morning. One thing was for certain, though; a quick, soapy round of "old fashioned" in the shower wasn't going to keep either of them satisfied.

She found herself yearning for Cass and her commentary. The first night they heard Six and Vulpes making noises, Veronica and Cass slipped off into the bathroom nearby, the dirty caravaner giving her a horrifying, yet hilarious play by play of the action. As Veronica chuckled at the memory, she told herself she was a terrible friend.

Arcade looked up from his reading to give her a questioning look.

"Tell ya later," she whispered.

He shrugged and predictably, went back to reading. Veronica watched as the two ex-praetorians entered the room. Though Boone said he was okay with them, she watched as he twitched and eyed them warily. Everything was awkward, and had been since everyone's arrival. A quick glance back to Arcade told her that he was where he was supposed to be; he was reading, and had his 'dad face' on.

Veronica and Arcade were the only normal ones left, simple as that.

* * *

><p>Lanius sat on his throne in Flagstaff, waiting for the guards to all enter the room. He had taken to wearing his full armor again, and felt as if perhaps, he was starting to recover from Vulpes, if just a little. It didn't explain why he had also taken to keeping the ring intended for the Courier in his pocket, but he figured that a step in the right direction toward normalcy was still good.<p>

The guard called a meeting to reorganize after the disappearance of Marcus and Crassius, and Lanius supposed it was just as well; there were two new vacancies. He would take suggestions, within reason. Each suggestion would have to fight a current member of the guard to near-death in the arena, in order to see if their numbers would be strengthened by the candidate.

The doors to the throne room opened, and the praetorians filed into the room. Ossian was the last to come in, his face drawn down into a frown. He withdrew a pistol from his belt, and aimed it in his direction.

"Take off the armor," Ossian ordered.

Lanius scoffed. Was this some sort of joke?

The other praetorians stood around, their arms crossed. They made no move to stop Ossian from pointing the gun at him, and he growled. It wasn't a joke.

Lanius stared the man in the eyes and began to do as he said. The gauntlets came first, followed by the cuirass and greaves. Whatever reason he was being forced to remove his armor, it wasn't good.

"The helm too," Ossian nodded.

He lifted his prized mask from his head and tossed it into the pile with the rest of the armor. The air outside it was strangely cold, and for Lanius, he was practically naked in front of these men.

Ossian nodded at another guard, who grabbed the Blade of the East from its place on the wall. His blood boiled at the sight of another man daring to touch what was his. Stepping forward, Ossian gestured with the gun toward the door that led outside.

"Walk," the praetorian ordered.

Lanius was being dethroned. The cowards were taking him into the desert to execute him like a criminal. Frowning, he stepped out of the mansion and walked with them out of Flagstaff. Guards flanked Ossian on every side, thus covering the fact that he was being forced out at gunpoint. Their path wound west, and Lanius knew exactly where they were going. Between Legion lands and the Mojave, there was a strip of nearly unoccupied desert. Aurelius of Phoenix's centuria guarded this entrance into the capitol, and ensured that nothing breathed or lived inside it without his permission.

The fight that he had in him so long ago had all but dried up; Lanius wasn't willing to resist, not when resistance meant that death would be a certainty. Though admittedly, the probability that he would just be thrown out was extremely small.

The group walked among the recruits and low-ranked officers of the outpost, drawing their attention. Lanius heard their whispers; many assumed that he was an assassin of some sort that had been thwarted. None of them knew who he was, since they hadn't been to Flagstaff at the time of his crowning.

Aurelius of Phoenix emerged from the nearby outbuilding and nodded at Ossian. Lanius' face contorted in rage as he realized that he had been set up.

"If you want power so badly," he hissed, "then challenge me."

There was no answer as they led him as far as they could from the complex. The desert had taken over here, the ancient highway turned to rubble. Nearby footpaths were overgrown as well, without a footprint on them. A single, lone cross stood at the bottom of the hill that they descended, and Lanius' stomach soured. That was where he had Vulpes executed, and that was most assuredly what this was about.

"I cannot best you in a fight," Ossian declared, "but I cannot stand by when injustice is done. If I could challenge you, I would in a second."

"So you use coward's tactics," Lanius snorted.

The praetorian nodded, and the Butcher almost laughed. This man was admitting his cowardice.

"One of the greatest sins," Ossian continued, "is man-rape. The cowardice I will own is not preventing Vulpes' execution, and nothing more."

A guard stepped forward with a bag. Lanius yanked it out of the man's hands and looked inside. It was the two gold bricks that Vulpes had given him when he returned to the Legion.

"That could give you an advantage if you reach the dissolute lands," Ossian remarked, "You will go out there, and do as you please. Mars will teach you, and perhaps uplift you from your dissolution. Even so, you are forbidden to return."

What did this one know of Mars? Lanius was the chosen voice of Mars, not him. Yes, he had fallen; but didn't every man struggle? To live an entirely sinless life was impossible.

Aurelius of Phoenix approached them, a bottle of amber liquid in his hand. Ossian sent him a glare, and the Centurion rolled his eyes.

"He's going to be one of them anyway, right?" Aurelius asked, "So it will send him off." It was obvious that the group hadn't determined who had authority yet. In the coming days, if one didn't decisively emerge as Caesar, it would most certainly doom the Legion.

Sighing, the praetorian allowed the boon. The Centurion stepped forward, reeking of tobacco and reminding Lanius that cigarettes smelled very good, and that he could probably have a few if he came across them. He frowned at the thought; he was an ex-smoker, and an ex-drinker. Lanius swore such things off years ago.

But the bottle of alcohol – whiskey, he discovered – looked like a good traveling companion, given his circumstances. He was better off drinking it when he was out of sight; Lanius wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing him consume the delicious liquid filth.

"Besides," Aurelius joked, "it's a gift for Graham." He assumed Lanius would die out in the desert; he assumed wrong.

The praetorians shook their heads at his irreverent reference to the late Legate, a man that Lanius never met. He took care to never mention the name of Joshua Graham around Caesar, but said it whenever he pleased otherwise. But now that Caesar had gone to be with Mars, he would likely see all and hear all. Lanius swallowed, realizing that Caesar knew everything he did; the Butcher deserved this punishment.

"Walk," Ossian ordered, "and do not come back." He gestured toward the desert, pistol in hand.

So, Lanius was thrown out into the desert with a sword, two gold bricks, and a bottle of whiskey. He didn't bother to look back, knowing that the only place he could go was west.

* * *

><p>They made the cocktail lounge their practice arena, since it was vacant. Vulpes wanted no distractions when he taught Six how to handle a blade, and she found this acceptable. What Six hadn't counted on, however, was the amount of touching they had to do in order for her to get her form right. She wasn't sure what she had been thinking; it made sense, after all. But each touch reminded her of the night before, where Vulpes flipped her on her back and showed her just what he thought of her reluctance to be with him. His methods had been somewhat persuasive, earning him a joint shower where she washed him – even 'down there'. He seemed to enjoy himself, and that made Six happy. Maybe they could start to be normal again.<p>

"No," Vulpes corrected, "out like this." He stepped up to her arm and straightened it. Six swallowed, her eyes quickly trailing down his bare chest and stomach. She was so distracted.

Vulpes frowned at her, clearly frustrated. If he knew why she was distracted, he didn't seem to show it. Turning around, he picked up his own machete and gave her a quick nod.

"Perhaps application will help," he remarked.

Vulpes approached Six, blade in hand.

"Fight me!" he ordered, before advancing quickly.

Six barely had time to block, and when their blades connected, her arm shook. He was strong, much stronger than she was. Each strike was barely blocked, and Six cursed her luck. Her frustration increased with each successive blow, as she found herself on the constant defensive. Angered, the Courier ducked away from his machete at the last second and brought it down at Vulpes. She would show him.

At the last second, he dodged. But Six had the advantage, and she knew she had to press forward. Vulpes' face softened, and the Courier could tell that he approved of how she was doing. That didn't matter; she was still angry that he came at her without much of a warning.

Her blade arced downward, slicing shallowly him across the chest. Gasping, Vulpes backed up and put up his guard.

"You're being serious," he panted, his expression slowly fading from amusement to anger. Blood trickled down his chest, running over the ridges of his stomach.

In a second, Vulpes darted forward, grabbed her wrist, and squeezed until she dropped her machete. Six wasn't a child; she didn't need to be treated like some dumb girl. Furious, she struggled against him. Vulpes overpowered her, wrestling her to the ground as she kicked and screamed.

They were suddenly still as Vulpes pinned down her arms, hunched over her, and panted. Six faked him out by relaxing. As soon as he let up pressure, the Courier thrashed in an attempt to get free. But Vulpes knew that was exactly what she was going to do, and he slammed her wrists back onto the floor.

"You hurt me," he hissed, "You're always hurting me."

Six paused, suddenly scared and upset. This wasn't about the training, nor was it about her being distracted from learning. But she had been completely transparent with him about her feelings. What else was she supposed to do?

Vulpes lay against her, his breath coming in hot puffs against her shoulder. He seemed to be struggling and thinking of something that Six could only begin to guess. But he quickly made up his mind, and he nipped her neck before deciding to attack.

As he violently kissed her neck, the anger, hurt, and fear lost to her desires. Vulpes commanded her attention, and when he let go of her wrists, Six kept them above her head, as if paralyzed. His mouth drifted upward to make heated contact with hers, his kisses desperate and fast. Six tried to slow him down, but he persisted.

Without warning, she was flipped over, her pants unceremoniously yanked down to her knees. She squirmed in the cold air, and felt slickness from her womanhood. Behind her, she heard a zipper go down, the rustling of clothes, and panting. Vulpes was on top of her, heat radiating off his body. Six felt him press into her, hot and hard. She didn't dare say no, and she wasn't sure how she felt about doing this again.

Vulpes made the decision, sinking himself into her. Six gasped and clenched her fists at the intrusion, willing herself to relax. Hunching over her, Vulpes withdrew and rapidly slammed back in, his gasping breath stirring the hair at the back of her neck and causing her body to shudder. He was still too big, still too much for her to take in, and she loved and hated it at the same time.

As he pounded into her, the Courier's knees slid forward on the lounge's cold, hard tiles. Her arms gave out underneath her, and she couldn't help but feel that she deserved this. Six had been a bad girl, always teasing then denying him. Her punishment burned, and it felt so good.

Six felt the delicious buildup she felt before, the oncoming anticipation reminding her of the inevitability of a sneeze. Within a second, she was pushing back against him and screaming so loudly that her throat ached. Her vision blackened as she rode a wave of ecstasy so powerful that she wondered if it would kill her. Above her, Six vaguely heard Vulpes moaning along with her, and felt him bury himself deep inside her, his throbbing manhood spurting with each pulse.

They came down from their high together and collapsed into a sweating, half-dressed heap.

"I get it now," Six panted. She swiveled her head to look at him.

Vulpes lay on his back, staring at the ceiling with a look of awe on his face. With each pant he took, his chest expanded, skin stretching across his ribs. His face was red, as were his knees.

"More," she croaked, her throat hoarse.

Vulpes chuckled and stretched like a dog, a smile stretching across his face.

"Give me a few minutes," he replied.

She timidly scooted toward him, content to lay together on the floor with their pants around their ankles. Six now knew why some people had over eleven children.


	59. Chapter 59

A/n: Second to last chapter here. This one is NSFW.

* * *

><p>Six awoke to the sound of breathing, a shallow, back-of-the throat sound that could only be Vulpes in a deep sleep. After a night of intense sex, Six expected it. She supposed it was good, then, that some of her friends decided to spread out into the hotel rooms down the hall. Six couldn't keep quiet even if she tried. It was more for their benefit, however; the Courier rather liked the thought that people could hear her enjoying herself.<p>

She stretched and yawned, scooting her body backward against Vulpes. There was a light moan in her ear, and Vulpes pressed forward, his manhood prodding her backside. Insistent kisses to the side of her neck made her giggle, and Six figured she would let him in. Lifting her leg, the Courier gently grabbed him and guided him toward her entrance. Both gasped as he slid in, and Six believed that this had to be the most wonderful way to wake up.

Vulpes took his time, each thrust slow and deep. Between kisses on her neck, he whispered things in her ear – Latin things that only he knew – and Six shivered at the hot breath that drifted across her neck. It was one of the reasons she loved doing it in this position somewhat more than others.

His hand trailed down her stomach and past her hip, toward her mound. A sneaky finger slipped between her folds to caress her hidden nub, and the Courier let out a gasp. That was the other reason she liked it liked it like this.

The combination of sensations was more than enough to send her over the edge into bliss. Six sighed and moaned quietly, rolling her hips backward against him. He followed her quickly, gasping and burying himself deep as he spilled himself inside her.

For a while, they were content to lay next to each other while he softened inside her. The Courier wanted to go back in time to slap herself silly; sex was every bit as amazing as Vulpes promised, and she saw why he wanted it so often. Everything about it, from the first bit of heat to the intense satisfaction afterward, was incredible. Six hoped she never got used to the feeling.

Then reality came back to her, and Six sighed. Today was the day that Boone and Follows-Chalk were leaving for Novac. She knew at the time that he said he was considering leaving, that Boone would eventually decide to go. It was a personal conviction of his, and while it pained her to have him leave so soon after his return, Six understood the importance of letting him leave.

"How are you feeling today?" Vulpes asked. His hand traced idle circles on her hip.

"Fine," she shrugged, "tired."

He chuckled into her hair and drew her in for a hug.

"No stomachaches?" he questioned.

"None," Six replied, "Why?" It was a strange thing to ask.

His hand drifted down to her lower abdomen, the warmth of his hand comforting.

"Most would be pregnant by now," he remarked, soothing the spot and kissing her cheek.

Six smiled; thanks to Yes Man, that had been taken care of, but in the busyness of day-to-day happenings around the Lucky 38, she neglected to tell Vulpes.

"Not happening," she announced, "Yes Man gave me something for that."

Vulpes tensed up behind her, and Six sighed.

"You don't want a baby, do you?" she asked.

"I –" he hesitated.

"That's up for me to decide, isn't it?" Six insisted. Had he been trying to get her pregnant their first night?

"I hoped that if you became pregnant, then you would stay with me," he murmured.

"So, that first night was on purpose," Six intoned. She knew Vulpes was manipulative, but this was much more than she ever thought he was capable of.

"No," he sighed, "that was an accident. The past few days, you didn't tell me to withdraw. I figured that you were fine with it, and perhaps wanted a child. Now I see that you've been up to something."

"Yes Man gave me a copper device," she admitted, "It prevents pregnancy with a one percent failure rate. Arcade implanted it."

There was silence in reply and Six frowned. Vulpes had no reason to be upset.

"It's my body," she added, "I can do with it what I want. Do you really want a baby?"

"No," he replied, "I do not. It would have been a means to an end."

Though disturbing, Six appreciated his transparency. She wasn't going anywhere, though, despite the fact that they weren't in a relationship.

"To be completely honest," Six sighed, "I don't ever want kids. They're loud, smelly, sticky, and just, no thanks."

Vulpes chuckled and buried his face into her hair.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

Six felt him shrug behind her. Vulpes reached up to twirl a strand of hair around his finger.

"You strike me as the type of woman who would have her children's names picked out," he replied, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

The Courier laughed outright at the thought.

"I don't think I've ever been like that," she chuckled, unsure of where she got the assumption, but very sure that it was true. Six stretched and scooted out of bed. She had to get ready for the day, and had to prepare to say goodbye to Boone.

Six grabbed some clothes from a dresser and began to put them on. As she stepped into her pants, she watched Vulpes stretch in bed, his movement effectively dumping the crumpled sheets onto the floor by the foot of the bed. For a moment, she forgot that she was supposed to be putting clothes on as she admired him. He was just her type; tall, thin, and toned, with a lovely trail of hair from his navel downward. Vulpes wasn't a walking carpet like a few that she had seen, but he didn't rid himself of all body hair. 'Respectfully trimmed' is what he called it; Six was inclined to agree.

Vulpes caught her staring and craned his head at her; seeing the beginnings of an erection made her sigh and finish dressing.

"We need to get going for the day," she admonished, though whether she was telling him or his erection, she didn't know. They were usually of one mind, or at least, he obeyed it most of the time.

He came up behind her, prodding her backside with it as he hugged her.

"You two need to knock it off," Six sighed. Vulpes laughed and backed off.

"I don't think my penis is capable of higher cognitive functions," he quipped, stepping into a pair of pants.

"Don't even know what that means," she grumbled.

Vulpes told her not to worry about it and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. Together, they stepped out into the hallway and entered the kitchen. Boone and Follows-Chalk were already waiting at the table, along with everyone else. A packed bag sat at Boone's feet and Six swallowed, realizing that this was really going to happen.

"You don't have to walk us through Freeside or anything," the sniper nodded, "but I wanted to talk with you before we go."

Six shrugged and motioned for him to follow her out into the hallway. Vulpes hesitated in the doorway, but Six shooed him off. She and Boone were just friends.

"You've been a great friend," Boone nodded, "and without you, I'd still be in Novac, drinking myself to death. Thank you for never giving up on me."

Tears welled up in her eyes as he stepped forward to give her a big hug. Six balled her fists in his shirt and put her head to his chest.

"You make it sound like you're going to be gone forever," she sniffed.

He sighed and patted her back as he stepped out of their embrace.

"I'm going to be honest with you," Boone replied, "It takes time to travel to Novac. I can visit like Cass, but we're just not going to see each other that often anymore. But this is what I have to do."

Six nodded in understanding and dried her eyes. Boone walked over toward the kitchen, and peered at Vulpes, who made his way back to the doorway.

"Don't hurt her," he frowned, "or I'll have to hunt you down."

Vulpes smirked and shook the sniper's hand.

"Never planned on it," he replied.

As Boone and Follows-Chalk said goodbye to everyone, Six wasn't sure what to do with herself. She fidgeted as she tried her best not to cry. After a minute, it was time for them to get into the elevator and leave.

Six looked down at her shaking hands, her vision growing watery. She couldn't take it; they just got Boone back, and he was leaving. Without warning, Six launched herself into his arms and gave him a hug so tight that her arms burned. Boone told her that it would be okay, and after a moment, she thought she was okay. Under his sunglasses, the rims of his eyes were red and wet.

Six gathered the strength to let go, and watched one of her best friends leave.

* * *

><p>Until it hit him, the whiskey made an excellent traveling companion. But as soon as the buzz started, he had a problem. The problem, Lanius realized, lay in the fact that for him, drinking and smoking were not mutually exclusive. As soon as he felt his limbs and eyelids grow sluggish, the Butcher found himself eying the horizon for a run-down gas station, which would surely have cigarettes inside.<p>

The tattered remains of an old hat from an ancient highway car wreck hung from his head, as defeated and run down as he felt. Though he had lived in the desert his entire life, Lanius lost heart. The highway was endless.

He made his way down the destroyed road of the old world, the crunch of his boots under rocks the only sound within what seemed like miles. Gradually, his senses picked up a dull roaring sound, and with each passing step, it grew louder.

Lanius began to see familiar rocks, as well as familiar bends in the road. A strange combination of excitement and apprehension arose within him; the dam was near. In a few paces, the road wound around a bend, and the Butcher was confronted with the remains of his old camp. He swallowed thickly as he stared at the vacant tent support holes, and the remains of the large fire pit. It was a bitter reminder of that which used to be his life, and he had come to terms with the truth that it was he who had destroyed everything – not Vulpes. It was Lanius and his pride, and Mars had seen it fit to take him down.

Sighing, he trudged onward through the remains of his past life, down the road and toward the dam. Bots lined its walls, each aiming their weapons directly at him. A single machine broke rank and rolled toward him, its grinning face setting off warnings in his head. Was this the last thing Caesar saw?

"Howdy there!" it greeted, "care to tell me why you're fixing to cross our dam?"

Lanius frowned and backed up.

"Now there's no need to get shy," the bot called, "I just need to know what your intent is."

"To make things right," Lanius responded. He doubted the machine understood matters of honor.

"Well, that's vague," it snorted, "is this a revenge kind of right?"

"No," he grunted.

"Oh, okay!" the bot chuckled, "so, you're just an apologizing wanderer, eh?" It leaned in, pointing a glistening barrel at his head.

"Yes," Lanius admitted.

"Kay!" it chirped, turning around and wheeling to back to its vacant spot.

The Butcher frowned again and proceeded with caution. If that was truly all it took to get into the Mojave, then the Legion could come in to take over easily. But at the same time, that machine hadn't been any ordinary bot. It had to be allied with the Courier, meaning that it could know him, based on his voice and height. There weren't many men like him. These thoughts were unsettling; perhaps, he had been expected. But how would it know that he would return? Lanius mistrusted it, as well as the old-world witchery that gave it breath and thoughts.

As he walked across the dam, the water powered the centuries old lights lining the rails. Lanius wondered if the Courier sent energy to the NCR, or if she kept it for her people. Judging by the absence of NCR personnel, he supposed that she kept it. The woman was wise to not make her bed with such disloyal people.

The end of the dam was in sight, and Lanius couldn't be more grateful. At the edge of the road, there were signs for Boulder City; finally, civilization was near. Lanius glanced down at the mostly empty bottle of whiskey, uncorked it, and quickly finished it off. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw NCR graffiti on a road sign. With all of his strength, he threw the bottle at the sign, the glass shattering on impact, and leaving a sizable dent in the metal.

It was childish, but it felt better to release the aggression; to give a face to his anger rather than thinking of how his own shortcomings were the cause of his problems. Still, it wasn't enough. Dissatisfied, the Butcher continued up the hill from the dam toward Boulder City.

He crested the hill and peered out at the small town, suddenly anxious. Lanius hadn't truly known that it was so close to the dam. The Legion had been so close to victory. Were the people there still NCR, or had the Courier run them out? Frowning, he continued onward, the road turning to dust the closer he got to town. Buildings grew closer, until he could see the pockmarks from bullets in their bricks.

What little people there were in the town didn't pay him any mind, as if a gigantic man carrying an impressive sword normally stumbled into Boulder City. He saw a glint of something out of the corner of his eye and turned his head.

A large stone stood in the center of the road, encircled by a concrete pedestal. Rows of chiseled text stood out against the highly polished stone, along with a familiar emblem. This was a shrine to the Bear.

In front of it, two men stood, one of them wearing a First Recon beret. No doubt, they were paying respects. Lanius approached the rock, hoping to read the inscription.

"I didn't think your people were religious," he remarked, giving the sniper a nod.

"Some are," the man replied, "this isn't about religion though. It's about the people who gave their lives for the cause."

The Legion didn't honor their dead in this way. It was expected that a man die gloriously in battle. The Legionary part of him scoffed. What were these NCR men, but names on a stone?

"They are immortal in a way," the man's companion remarked.

Lanius nodded slowly, the Hidebark part of his thoughts agreeing in a quick change of his mind. The NCR could call it a memorial; they could call it remembrance. But when it came down to the truth, this was a shrine to the worship of fallen ancestors. The baseball and desert flowers laid at the base of the rock said as much.

"There's a bit of controversy with this one," the sniper frowned, "city folks are saying that this isn't the NCR, and that the monument needs to be sent back. But Boulder is a holdout township, and Six isn't going to win anyone over if she removes this stone. She has to be careful. Respect for the enemy can be viewed as weakness."

"But she took in those legionaries," the man's companion frowned, "so, that's also respect for the enemy, isn't it?"

The sniper sighed and nodded.

Lanius frowned; it was undoubtedly Vulpes and the praetorians.

"Do you know the Courier?" the Butcher asked, eying the sniper.

Something snapped in the other man, making Lanius pause.

"No," he groused. His protest was too loud, and much too quick.

So, this man did know the Courier. The sniper left without so much as a word, his confused companion jogging to catch up.

There was no way that the sniper knew Lanius, but it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that the man had a second sense about things. Lanius asked the wrong question, and waited too long to ask it. He never had the finesse to get the answers he needed; normally, the Butcher threatened until he got what he was looking for.

Lanius shifted his pack, the weight of the gold bars pressing into his back and reminding him of why he was there. Sighing, he made his way toward the saloon. Perhaps, he could get more information there.

The old door was light, and as Lanius stepped into the building, it slammed shut with a loud bang. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw a woman behind the bar. In her boredom, she wiped nonexistent dust from the counter. The building was filled with typical afternoon patrons – empty chairs. The woman's sole customer sat in the corner, his hat over his eyes. An empty bottle of alcohol sat next to him, and a nub of a lit, unsmoked cigarette dangled from his fingers, a trail of ashes leading from the tabletop to the man's hand.

"He's always like that," the barkeep remarked.

Lanius grunted, walked up to the bar, and took a seat.

"What'll you have?" she asked.

He fished around in his pockets to pull out a small handful of caps that he found along the highway. Placing them on the table, he wondered if it was enough.

"Whatever this will get me that's strong," Lanius replied.

The woman chuckled and pushed the caps back at him.

"It could get you a shave," she replied, giving him a nod.

Lanius frowned. What was wrong with his facial hair? It was the style of the Hidebarks; he always had a goatee with a muttonstache.

The woman sensed his unease and backed off with a quick apology. It was good that she knew better than to push him.

"There's not a drink in this place that amount of caps could buy," she sighed, "but you've come in from the road, and smell and look like you've been rolling around in the desert by yourself for a few days."

"That is accurate," he replied.

"So, what do you like?" she asked.

The woman leaned over the bar to talk to him, her restless feet unable to hold still as she looked him in the eye.

"Whiskey," he shrugged.

As she stood and turned around, Lanius took a moment to study her. She was a tall younger woman, with a boyish build. Underneath a dirty, grey hat was a mop of tied up, sun bleached hair. She wore an old, red shirt and black vest that were cropped off around the ribs, and below the large swath of tanned skin was a pair of loose leather pants, rolled up at the ankles. Her large combat boots thudded with each step she made to gather the ingredients necessary for his drink.

She turned around again and slid a glass of whiskey over to him. The ice in the bottom of the glass looked almost more inviting than the drink itself.

"I'm Lacey," she nodded, "You look sad, mister?"

The woman trailed off, waiting for him to introduce himself. And as she lit a cigarette, Lanius knew he was in trouble. He hadn't thought of an alias.

"Butcher," he sighed. It wasn't creative in the least, but it would do.

"Sounds like some raider shit," Lacey replied, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"I'm not," he insisted.

"I'm not about to judge," she replied, "NCR is treated almost the same nowadays here. So, why are ya sad, fella?"

Lanius took a gulp of his drink and stared at her in thought. He was as lot older than she was, and wondered why she was so intent on striking up a conversation with him.

"I fell in love with someone much younger," he grumbled, staring into his drink.

"How much younger?" the woman asked. She leaned in with interest as Lanius figured the age difference in his head.

"He was about eighteen years younger," came his reply. The bartender's face fell.

"It's always the handsome strangers that turn out to be queer," she sighed.

Lanius shook his head and stared up at the woman.

"Sex is more organic than that," he replied, "If there is a mutual attraction between partners, does gender, age, and status matter?"

Lacey nodded and conceded the point.

"I could please him," Lanius murmured, "but I couldn't tame him." Vulpes had been too much for him to handle. If he had been able to do things over, he would have taken the time to seduce him, rather than taking without asking. Lanius had been a fool, and his regret made him unable to look back up at the barkeep.

"Don't suppose I could soothe your troubles then," she drawled, sliding the bottle of whiskey toward him.

Lanius took a moment to assess her looks once more, and decided that he would allow her to make an attempt.

Not more than a few minutes later, the bar was locked and they crashed into her room upstairs. Boards creaked under their hurried shuffling, the sound of clothes dropping to the floor following soon after.

* * *

><p>The noises that came from the Courier's room only grew in intensity and volume when the sniper and tribal left. Six was much more likely to misbehave now that her older brother figure was gone.<p>

"He's got to be at least half queer," Marcus declared.

Crassius shook his head and looked across the kitchen at Veronica. The headboard in the next room banged loudly against the wall, and it was sure to leave dents.

"Doesn't sound like it," Veronica chuckled.

"He kissed me," Marcus grumbled, "though he was trying to escape and had a lot of healing powder."

Graham stared down at his holy book, the sounds through the wall not phasing him in the slightest.

"Vulpes is whatever he wants to be," he remarked, without looking up.

"What does that mean?" Marcus asked.

"Exactly what it sounds like," the Burned Man replied. He turned the thin page of his book and continued reading.

Crassius chuckled and leaned back on the couch. Marcus sat quietly, attempting to decipher Graham's cryptic words. The prospect that Vulpes could possibly entertain the idea of intimacy with another man was everything that Marcus was looking for. But the entire thing was a moot point; Crassius supposed that the three of them would be fine, but he was certain that the Courier wouldn't allow Vulpes to be intimate with others separate from her. Having Six involved in their tryst would be an absolute deal breaker.

"Let's just say he is," Veronica nodded, "What would you do with that information?"

"What do you think I'd do with that information?" Marcus grinned.

The sounds in the other room slowed to a stop again.

"Unless you can dodge bullets," Arcade interjected, "I don't think you'd get very far with him."

The Scribe laughed, and Crassius couldn't help but join in. Six was very possessive of Vulpes. While Marcus grumbled that Six and Vulpes weren't really a couple, Veronica turned her mischievous eyes to the doctor sitting innocently in the corner.

"Arcade's unattached," she hinted.

Crassius lifted an eyebrow at the doctor, watching as the man's face turned red.

"A blonde, a brunette, and a redhead walk into a cocktail lounge," the scribe continued, much to Arcade's chagrin.

"Why?" the doctor asked. He gave Veronica a vicious glare.

"Because you should have some fun," she smiled.

Crassius was unaware that he and Marcus were apparently campaigning for a threesome, but then again, Marcus opened his mouth about Vulpes. Out of curiosity, Crassius figured he would ask the doctor a question.

"So, what's your type?" he nodded.

Arcade swallowed, his face somehow turning redder. Behind the praetorians, Six stepped into the room, grabbed a cola out of the fridge, and waited patiently for the doctor's answer. She had a knowing look on her face.

"I like meek, wimpy tops that need to be bossed around," Arcade replied.

Crassius laughed and patted Marcus on the back.

"We have a winner," the praetorian needled. Marcus protested loudly, his face turning red.

"Fascinating," Vulpes chuckled, leaning on the doorframe. He always picked the perfect moment to overhear things. Perhaps it was luck; perhaps it was his training.

"And why do you find that fascinating?" Marcus asked, not skipping a beat.

Vulpes shrugged, grabbed a bottle of water, and sat down at the table next to the Courier. He uncapped the bottle and took a measured sip. Marcus was growing impatient.

"Information," Vulpes concluded, "is always fascinating."

Marcus' face fell, and Crassius wasn't surprised. Vulpes always spoke in riddles.

"What are you?" Marcus asked, narrowing his eyes. Crassius expected Vulpes to dodge the question again. Instead, Vulpes frowned and stared Marcus in the eye.

"Why do you want to know?" he quipped, "Is it really that important to have a proper box to put me in? Am I ruining your labeling system?"

The room was silent as everyone attempted to figure out what to say. Crassius glanced at the Courier, who looked clueless; he wondered if it was an act. Without looking up from his reading, the Burned Man broke the silence by grumbling about 'kids these days'. Marcus sighed and glanced over at Vulpes.

"I have a different question," Marcus nodded, "a non-offensive one, I promise."

Vulpes shrugged and motioned for him to continue.

"When you first started as a frumentarius," he asked, "there was a rumor going around. Did you kill Alphaeus to take his position?"

Vulpes blinked and stared at Marcus in confusion. It was an interesting look for him, almost cute, if such a word could truly be applied to a Legionary.

"That was me," Graham interjected. He turned another page of his holy book.

"Why?" Marcus asked, his eyes wide. It wasn't often that officers killed one another, and if they did, it was in the arena.

"He angered me," the Burned Man shrugged. "You're a rather curious praetorian." He turned his blue-gray eyes toward Marcus, who shrunk away. It was said that Joshua Graham could make even the most powerful of men flinch, and Crassius believed it. There was something intense and unnerving about the man; perhaps, it was the knowledge alone of the things he had done.

"I got beaten so many times for asking questions during training," Marcus chuckled, "you have no idea." He was sheepish, and ready to backtrack to ease any offense. This was Marcus' way; he wished to be continually in everyone's good graces. For the next few days, he would certainly give Vulpes sad, apologizing looks and converse with him repeatedly until he was sure everything was fine.

"I can imagine," the Burned Man chuckled. The corners of his eyes crinkled into what Crassius interpreted as a smile.

Vulpes craned his head at Graham as if perplexed.

"A genuine smile is a good look for you, Mr. Graham," he concluded.

The Burned Man looked up from his book and nodded.

"You too, Vulpes," he replied.

Crassius leaned back on the couch and listened as the remaining inhabitants of the Lucky 38 made small talk. He was bothered by how normal everything felt, and his superstitious side couldn't help but feel that something bad was about to happen.

* * *

><p>Days later, Lacey cajoled Lanius until he gave in. After the subsequent shaving of his mustache and goatee – they compromised on the muttonchops – Lanius begrudgingly admitted that the woman was right. He looked younger without all the hair on his face, and possibly attractive.<p>

Whenever Lanius walked by the mirror, it was startling to see an entirely different man in the grimy reflection. Still, the powerful jaw, high cheekbones, and cleft chin grew on him until he found himself somewhat fond of his new appearance.

He closed his eyes against the high desert sun and stretched his back on the warm mattress. The rooftop walls of the saloon were high, giving him – or the town, rather – the privacy required to lie nude in the sun. The skin underneath his dearly departed facial hair was white; his solution was to burn once a day, so it would all match.

The hatch to the rooftop opened, and Lacey climbed the ladder. He heard a whistle of approval and chuckled.

"If he saw you just like this," she remarked, "then you'd have him back for keeps."

"Until my stomach sags in seven years," Lanius grumbled. He wasn't being fair to her efforts of cheering him up, but he didn't care.

"He could be balding by then," Lacey quipped.

Lanius couldn't help but chuckle; Vulpes did have rather fine hair. But even completely bald, he would still be bewitchingly beautiful.

"Your skin's matching now," the barkeep noted.

He grunted in reply and sat up. Outside of having sex, they couldn't bother to be around each other for a long period of time. They had nothing in common.

Lanius sighed as Lacey left and decided to follow. He stayed with her for too long; it was time to leave and make things right, even if it meant that he would be executed. The Butcher descended the ladder into the cool, upper area of the stone building.

"I suppose you're going to leave," Lacey said.

"Yes," he clipped. He began to put on the leather pants that used to secure his armor. The clothes were tight, so as to ensure a proper fit. Lanius supposed he looked ridiculous, wearing the equivalent of a leather tank top and what could be misconstrued as arm warmers. There were bare spots on his shoulders where his pauldrons were meant to be. Boots reinforced with metal completed half of what should have been his armor.

Lacey watched as he grabbed his bag and sword, and followed him downstairs. There was no hug or kiss goodbye as she opened the door that led into the Mojave.

"Hope you find what you're looking for," she nodded.

Lanius glanced back at her, noticing the remnants of a bruise on her neck from their quick affair. Had she been a slave, he would have destroyed her. But as a free creature, she was somewhat fascinating. It brought back memories of his life before – the life he now returned to.

"You too," he replied.

Lanius disappeared north into the desert and didn't look back. The road took him out of Boulder City, past scattered remnants of old buildings that didn't survive the bombs from the Great War.

He froze as he saw a figure in power armor up the road. The NCR was a holdout in Boulder, and could possibly recognize the Blade of the East he carried on his back. Lanius wasn't afraid, but he had no desire to go into a fight unarmored and die before giving his message to Vulpes.

It was too late to turn back, however; the armored one saw him and was approaching quickly, along with another pair in power armor. As they drew closer, he made out the details of their armor and frowned.

What were the Brotherhood of Steel doing out of their bunker?


	60. Chapter 60

A/n: This is the last chapter. It's been a long journey, and a very fun one. I appreciate everyone who has read, favorited, alerted, and given reviews. This is the first fic that I've completed, and it feels really good.

There is a sequel (more like continuation, since there are threads yet to tie up) in planning, and a Skyrim fic. I may also do a few one shots in the Newton's Third universe as well, like Captured was. I'll also do one shots with prompts too, if any of you have things you'd like to see from this universe. Send in a request if you have one :)

* * *

><p>The armored man approached him, his companions darting out from cover. They pointed glowing, old-world weapons at him, and Lanius wondered if their intent was to kill. He shifted the weight of his sword on his back, prepared to fight if they proved hostile.<p>

"Don't move!" the leader ordered.

Lanius frowned, and figured he could bite his tongue while they did as they pleased. So long as they didn't harm him or steal from him, he would do nothing; it was his first lesson in patience.

While one member of the group kept their weapon trained on him, the others began to give Lanius a systematic search. By removing his bag and sword, they were increasingly close to making him snap and show them his wrath. But a warning in the back of his mind told the Butcher to stay his hand. Didn't the Courier travel with one of the Brotherhood of Steel? These could be under her leadership.

"Look at this," one of the searchers marveled.

The leader turned his head to look inside the bag, and it took all of Lanius' effort to not react violently.

"That was a gift," he intoned.

"From where?" the leader questioned.

"A casino," Lanius frowned.

"Probably fake," the leader shrugged, "let him keep them. We're after tech, and a couple of fake gold bricks would weigh us down."

Another member of the group stepped forward to roughly pat him down for hidden items. While they searched thoroughly, the leader held on to his bag.

"Name?" he questioned.

"Yours?" Lanius quipped, "Your friend here is getting rather intimate for a stranger." There was a feminine chuckle behind his back as the searcher's hands dove between his legs.

"That's not a weapon," he ground out. She spent more time there than was necessary.

"It's where they hide em sometimes," one of the onlookers remarked. The others chuckled at this.

The leader snapped at them, demanding order.

"Have you ever owned or fired an energy weapon?" he asked, crossing his arms in impatience.

"They have a slower rate of fire," Lanius intoned, "loading them is a hassle, and they leave an unrecognizable mess of their victims. In hunting, they are useless, and in battle, they leave a questionable body count."

There was silence as the woman behind him coughed. Yes, he held distaste for their very lifestyle.

"One of your own travels with the Courier," Lanius volunteered, "and I wonder how that came to be. Robbing travelers doesn't seem to be the Courier's style. Did your scribe abandon her people?"

The leader stormed up to him, his rage palpable behind his mask.

"You don't know Veronica," he hissed, "she is too trusting, and we mourn for her loss."

"She's not dead," the woman behind the Butcher sighed.

"She might as well be," the leader remarked, "for all the brainwashing they did to her."

Apparently, they were not in the Courier's employ. This meant that the Brotherhood of Steel grew bold, left their bunker, and were searching nearby travelers for technology. Part of Caesar's plans involved eradicating them, and Lanius knew why; they were a greedy people that worshiped technology, the root cause of the Great War.

"He's got nothing," the woman announced.

Scowling, the leader grabbed his arm and attempted to jostle him around, but it was no use. Even in power armor, Lanius was bigger and stronger. They could attempt to push him around all day and they would get nowhere.

"Get out of here," the man growled, giving him a shove to the road.

Lanius chuckled and continued on his way. His plans changed; he had to tell the Courier about the Brotherhood on her roads, if she wasn't aware of it already. It could be a bargaining chip to get into her good graces, after all. Perhaps, he could destroy them for her as tribute. He would need armor to do such a thing.

As he made his way through the outer perimeter of Vegas, Lanius began to formulate his plan of how to win the Courier over. After all, the Mojave was the only place he knew of that he could go, besides north into the wilderness. Such a prospect was disheartening; he didn't want to be alone.

A gate loomed before him, with a sign that said 'Freeside'. So, this was the fabled den of iniquity that he heard of. It occurred to him that he wouldn't have been able to read the sign were it not for Vulpes, and immediately, his stomach soured. But despite his discomfort, he had to press onward; Lanius had a debt to repay. He glanced at the man that stood at the gate, and wondered if he was permitted to pass.

"Hey," the man nodded, "don't cause a ruckus in Freeside, and it'll be gravy." He shrugged his sagging leather jacket, tossed his greased hair back, and opened the gate without hesitation. Lanius wondered if his appearance was so common that he wasn't noteworthy. More likely, the man at the gate had seen a little bit of everything.

He stepped into Freeside, steeling himself for a bandit around every corner. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of rows of tables filled with food. Vendors called out prices and announced that their produce was Mojave-grown while the townsfolk traded caps for food. A radio played softly in a nearby shop that had an open glass door and windows, a breeze from indoor fans stirring faded, yellow curtains.

There was a smell about the place; it was the scent of worn earth, of animals and man. The scent of filth was conspicuously absent. He stepped cautiously forward, wondering if the rumors had been false, or if he was in the wrong place.

"You look lost, pal," a man called.

Lanius turned to look at him, and saw another man dressed in a leather jacket, his hair slicked back. This had to be an identity; perhaps, they were part of the Kings.

"I'm trying to find the Strip," he frowned. Lanius hated asking for help.

The man shrugged and motioned for him to follow. Around him, the crowd parted and made way so they could walk.

"You a bounty hunter?" the man asked.

Lanius' response was a flat 'no'.

"Looking to start over, eh?" he smiled, "this is a great place to do that. The Mojave is a place of second chances, and Freeside is a perfect example of it."

He didn't know how the King knew this, but he figured that if he wasn't a bounty hunter, then he was surely an ex-convict. The assumption was closer to the truth than Lanius liked.

The man led him through a broken down bus and down the street, pointing out the Kings' headquarters. He then took him toward a large, long gate that was guarded by a pack of the robots Lanius saw at the dam. Had the Courier turned the Strip into her Fortress?

"You could find work on the farm," the King nodded, "but a guy like you might want to be a bodyguard. In there, you'll find plenty of rich cats that want guarding."

"And the Courier?" Lanius asked.

The man laughed and shook his head.

"Gal's got some elite ex-Legionaries as guards," he chuckled, "one of 'em turned out to be Fox."

"Fox?" Lanius questioned. It had to be Vulpes, but he needed to know as much information as possible.

"Local pervert, pretty harmless," the man replied, "or we thought he was. Turns out he was on the NCR's most wanted list. He's real sweet on the Courier though, and she's practically leading him around on a string. Didn't know those guys were susceptible to dames."

Lanius stared down at the man and sighed.

"Every man is susceptible to a pretty face," he remarked, thinking of his own downfall. The King nodded in agreement.

"Well, this is the gate to the Strip," the man nodded, "hope you've got your passport, bub."

"Passport?" he questioned.

The King's face fell.

"You've gotta have a passport to get in to the Strip," he replied, "it used to be that everyone had to pay, but now it's just non-citizens. Of course, if a citizen causes trouble, they're on probation. But you've gotta pay to get in if you're not from the Mojave."

Lanius growled in frustration. He hadn't come this far, only to be turned away. Making up his mind, he stormed up to the gate, despite the gang member's protest that the bots had guns – and really big rockets. A bot rolled in front of him, ordering him to provide a passport or submit to a citizen's check.

"Don't play this game with me," he hissed, "you know who I am, and you know who I'm here for."

As the King backed up in worry, the bot's screen flickered before turning into the smiley face Lanius saw before. A crowd began to gather, wanting to watch the strange happenings unfold. They whispered amongst themselves about a 'Yes Man', and that it was apparently a rare sight.

"And who may I say is calling?" it asked.

"The Butcher," Lanius ground out.

"And who shall I give this message to?" it chirped.

What was the protocol for this? Was he supposed to ask Vulpes permission to speak with the Courier, or was he to ask the Courier for permission to speak to Vulpes? He was the man, and she was female, but she was the leader, and he was not.

"The Courier and Vulpes," he replied, unable to make up his mind.

"Oh my goodness," the robot groaned, "Do you have any idea how tough it is to get a hold of them? I think they live in that bedroom. The amount of sheet washing that has to be done is ridiculous. And it is so loud, all the time. Some of her friends ended up leaving, and others ended up moving down the hallway. It is so bad, man."

There was a pause as the crowd murmured and stared at the robot.

"I just said that in public," the robot stated.

Lanius nodded slowly. The bot's description sounded just like Vulpes.

"Kay," it chuckled, "give me a minute. I'll send 'em down."

The bot's face flickered back to its standard look as it presumably disappeared to summon the Courier and Vulpes. Cautiously, the gang member that led him toward the gate approached.

"So, just who are you, mister?" he asked. Much to his disappointment, Lanius didn't answer.

The crowd began to press him for answers, but Lanius wouldn't speak. He had nothing to say to them. They grew louder, until the gates to the Strip swung open to reveal Vulpes, the Courier, and an entourage of strangers and praetorians. There was a flicker of emotion on Vulpes' face when their eyes met, and Lanius swallowed.

His heart didn't leap as he expected, but the lust was still there, searing him from the inside out.

* * *

><p>He wasn't sure what to feel when he saw Lanius, even after the time all the time he had to collect his thoughts. There was a twinge of apprehension, and a dash of something he couldn't name as Vulpes slowly approached the man who destroyed him. He felt no fear, however. He couldn't be hurt again.<p>

"We're not going to discuss anything here," Vulpes stated.

This appeared acceptable to the Butcher, who nodded and followed him out into the desert. When they were a safe distance away from town, Vulpes signaled that the group stop. If he was going to have a personal conversation, he wanted it to be as private as possible. It was somewhat irritating that part of the crowd from Freeside followed them out, but it was the price of being a high profile individual.

"Leave the sword," Six grumbled. She had no idea that she was telling Lanius to do something that he would never do, under any circumstances.

Surprisingly, the Butcher drew his sword from his back and presented it to Six. As soon as the sword's weight transferred to the Courier, the tip fell straight to the ground, an 'oh geez' following soon after. She attempted to lift it and succeeded in dragging it through the dust. Sighing, she allowed Crassius to handle the Blade of the East.

Vulpes led Lanius out a way, until they were out of earshot of everyone. He regarded the man coolly, and waited for him to say the first words. It was obvious that he'd been dethroned, given that he wore no armor. Lanius stared at him, unsure of what to say. Vulpes figured that perhaps, the Butcher didn't expect to have the chance to even speak.

"Well?" Vulpes asked. He crossed his arms and feigned indifference. It seemed to snap the Butcher out of his stupor.

"Kanut hung himself over what happened," Lanius admitted.

Jesus Christ. That was awful news.

"And you expect me to like that?" Vulpes sighed, "That is the worst ice-breaker I've ever heard." He couldn't help but chuckle; Lanius was ever the barbarian. His amusement seemed to put the other man at ease.

"I am not good at this stuff," Lanius replied.

He was about to send off a mouthy retort, but the Butcher silenced him by hooking his chin and giving him a slow, thorough kiss. Out of the corner of his eye, Vulpes saw Six seething. But she didn't love him anyway, right? Smirking, Vulpes kissed back, pulling away after a moment.

"Is that how you forgive someone?" Lanius asked, surprised that there had been a response at all.

"Sure," Vulpes shrugged, "But should I let you off that easily?"

As Lanius stared at the ground, they both knew that the answer was no. The man who had been described as an animal, a mountain, and the bull of the Legion itself, fidgeted in front of him, shame clearly written across his face.

"I loved you," he confessed.

Vulpes blinked in confusion. He hadn't been aware, or at least, chose to ignore each and every attempted heartfelt confession.

"These belong to you," he continued. Lanius removed the bag from his shoulders and withdrew the gold bars from the Sierra Madre, handing them over. He then took a box out of the bag, and Vulpes instantly knew what it was. Prying open the box, Vulpes confirmed that it was Vera Keyes' ring, the very one he intended to give to Six.

But what was the point in that? Six didn't love him, and was adamant about it.

"Maybe this is insane," Vulpes sighed, "but you can stay with us, if Six allows it."

And it was insane. He was inviting the man who made his life a living hell for months to live with him, but at the same time, Vulpes didn't have the heart to be angry. He didn't have the heart to hold a grudge. And truthfully, it was almost painful how similar their situations were. A part of him wondered if Six even cared about their time together, or if she simply laid there in disinterest. He was getting weary of constantly worrying over her, of looking her in the eyes as he made love to her, knowing she didn't love him in return.

"Is this one of your games?" Lanius asked.

Vulpes rolled his eyes and began to walk back toward the group. He didn't play games; Lanius could follow him, or he could not. A set of footsteps behind him told Vulpes that the Butcher chose to believe him.

As soon as he reached the group, he handed the gold bricks off to Marcus. Vulpes knew that he would have to speak with Six about letting Lanius stay.

While the rest of the group appeared to be more at ease, Six appeared even more upset. Vulpes wondered if she was truly jealous, and if so, why. They hadn't declared that they were monogamous, after all. The thought of being with anyone else, however, was rather disinteresting to Vulpes. He was still hopelessly in love.

"You asked him to stay, didn't you?" Six asked. Her arms were crossed, her mouth drawn into a pout.

Vulpes opened his mouth to reply, but the Courier interrupted.

"Don't deny it," she huffed, "I couldn't hear you, but I read your lips."

She turned to address Lanius.

"You can stay, but if you do so much as look at him the wrong way," Six beamed, "then I'll claw your eyes out."

Vulpes blinked in confusion. The Courier was never one to make threats.

* * *

><p>Six stared up at the man who was known to be a butcher. This man threatened New Vegas once, but her concern was to ensure that Vulpes wouldn't be harmed again. Though she knew that Lanius was safe now, she still didn't trust him.<p>

Lanius knelt before Six in respect, but her mind was on other things, namely, what possessed Vulpes to kiss someone who wasn't her.

"The Brotherhood of Steel moves against you," he said, "if you wish, I will destroy them in your name to prove my loyalty."

Six frowned. Her jealousy could wait.

"What do you mean by, 'they move against me'?" She asked. Six didn't have to turn around to know that Veronica was upset.

"On my way here," Lanius continued, "I was accosted by the Brotherhood of Steel. They have become common bandits in their quest for technology. I will personally destroy them if you see fit."

"There's gotta be a mistake," Veronica protested, "I'm sure we can talk it all out."

The Butcher growled in frustration, clearly not used to being questioned.

"I was held at gunpoint while they searched me for technology," he insisted, "and I wasn't the first or the last."

Veronica shook her head, and Vulpes stepped forward to diffuse the situation.

"Perhaps they've run out of resources," he remarked, "or, they're unaware of the new government here. They do not leave that bunker often. Regardless, we're going to need Veronica's help. There's no need to kill them unless Six wants to kill them." Lanius shrugged and conceded the point.

Six nodded and smiled. Vulpes was always able to come up with a solution that would appease both parties, while still being practical. His smarts, his cunning, and his way with words were just a few of the things that she loved about him. To top it off, he forgave the person who destroyed him, something that must have been difficult. Six admired him all the more for it; she would have never been able to forgive. It was yet another thing that made her love him. She froze as the weight of her thought hit her:

Six loved Vulpes.

She blinked at him in shock, wondering when it happened. It certainly explained her jealousy. Vulpes gave her a strange look, and Six couldn't keep it in any longer. Quickly, she grabbed his hand and hauled him away from the group to tell him her new secret.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Six bit her lip and stared up at him. Getting up on her tiptoes, the Courier leaned in to whisper it in his ear. She stepped back, her face heating up as he blinked at her in confusion.

"I did not hear that," Vulpes smirked.

She didn't believe that for a second and squirmed. He was trying to make her uncomfortable. Giving in, the Courier snaked her arms around his shoulders and stared him in the eyes.

"I love you," she admitted.

"Really?" he whispered, leaning in to kiss her.

Six stared into his eyes and nodded.

"Forever," she added.

He kissed her quickly and stepped back. It was then that she noticed the black box in his hand. Vulpes bent down on one knee and opened the box to reveal a beautiful red-stoned ring. Six wasn't quite sure what it meant, but Veronica gasped and couldn't stop grinning and telling her to say yes.

"You all do it like this, right?" he chuckled, looking uneasy.

"Do what?" she asked.

Chuckling, Vulpes stood and put the ring on her left hand. He grabbed the mark around her neck, the one that she wore every day since he gave it to her. It seemed that they ran into another gap in her memories, but he was patient as usual.

"Propose," he smiled, "but just wear this."

Six gasped and swiveled around to look at him.

"After all the crap I put you through," she replied, "you want to marry me?"

Vulpes flashed a bright smile and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

"If I'm a sucker," he shrugged, "then so be it."

Six giggled and slapped his arm. In her quest to do everything for everyone else, it seemed that she forgot herself, including her quest for her identity. She walked back home with her friends, knowing that they would always be there for her, regardless of what happened. And as she sneaked a glance up at Vulpes, she knew that the final piece of the puzzle fell into place. It wasn't the piece she was looking for, but it was the one she needed.

Six decided that she was okay with not knowing who she was.

She had friends, and she was in love. Everything else seemed unimportant in comparison.


End file.
